NO PLAYS EXCHANGED. 




AN AUTOGRAPH 
LETTER 




COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 



Baker's Edition of Plays 



ARRANGED BY NUMBER OF CHARACTERS, MALE AND FEMALE. 
FURTHER PARTICULARS IN REGULAR LIST- 
PRICE GIVEN AFTER EACH PLAY. 
ff here a play is known under two titles, both are given as separate play*. i» 
"V this list only. 



Two Characters. — One Male, one Female. 
An Original Idea . . 15 



Three Characters. — Two Males, One Female. 
Box and Cox .... 15 I Mary Moo : .... 15 I Silent Woman ... 19 
Unprotected Female . 15 | I Which Shall 1 Marry? 15 

One Male, Two Females. 
....'■ 15 | Two Flats and a Sharp 15 | Which will Have Him? 15 
Four Characters. — Two Males, Two Females. 



Apples 



Bouquet ..... 15 



Gi ve a Hog, etc. 
Match Makers . 
Personal Matter 



Bomhastes Furioso 



15 



Census Taker . . . 

Mr. Joffin's Latchkey 

None so Deaf as those 

who Won't Hear . 



15 



Three Males, One Female. 
| The Tempter .... 15. | 



Fairy's Father 
Madam is Abed , 
Putkins . . , 



Sailor's Return 



Five Characters. — Three Males, Two Females. 



Anonymous Kiss . 
Cousin Tom . . . 
Done on Both Sides 
Sylvia's Soldier . . 
Ugly Customer . . 
Blue and Cherry . 



Kiss in the Dark . 



Only a Clod 



Doubtful Victory • . 15 
My Son Diana . . 15 
Two Buzzards ... 15 
Appearances are De- 
ceitful 15 

Don't Judge by Ap- 
pearances .... 15 



15 



1- 



Under a Veil . . 
Nature and Philosophy 15 
To Oblige Benson . . 15 
Welsh Girl .... 15 
The Youth who Never 
Saw a Woman . . 15 



Two Males, Three Females. 
15 | My Husband's Secret 15 I Poor Pillicoddy . 



Phantom Breakfast 



15 



Four Males, One Female. 
15 I Two Heads are Better I Trumpeter's Daughter 15 
| than One .... 15 | 



Six Characters.— One Male, Five Females. 

The Only Young Man in Town 30 

Three Males, Three Females. 



Aunt Charlotte's Maid 15 
Always Intended . . 15 



Dandelion's Dodges . 15 
Drop Too Much . . 15 
From Information I Re- 
ceived 15 

I've Written to Brown 15 



Advice to Husbands . 15 | 



My Sister's Husband . 15 
Never Say Die . . . 15 
Your Life's in Danger 15 
Four Males, Two Fema'es 
John Wopps .... 1" 
Nursey Chiekweed . 15 
Needless Stratagem (A) 15 
Once on a Time . . . 15 
Slice of Luck (A) . . 15 
Sullivan, The Slugger 15 
Five Males, One Female, 



Sarah's Young Man 
Two Puddifoots 



Sunshine through the 
Clouds ..... 15 

Soldier, Sailor, Tinker. 
nndTai'or .... 15 

We're All Teetotallers 15 



] Diamond Cut Diamond 15 



WALTER H. BAKER &;CO., PUBLISHERS 
23 WINTER ST., BOSTON, MASS. 



AN 



AUTOGRAPH LETTER 



& ©jomjexlij itt Qhxzz Jkxis 



BY ; 

ESTHER B. TIFFANY, 

author of " anita's trial," "a rice pudding," "the way 

to his pocket," "young ms. pritchard," 

"that patrick," etc. 



BOSTON 



1889. 



)N G*. 



* 'RIGHT ^ 



*& 



NOV S 1889,,, 



■ 




P5 30i 



CHA-RAC T ERS. 

JOHN MASTERS. 

HAL MASTERS, nephevj to John Masters. 

PHILIP STAUNTON. 

DR. PROCTER. 

SHERIFF. 

PRISCILLA MAY. 

HELEN STAUNTON, daughter to Staunton, 

LIBBY MASTERS, sister to John Masters, 

MRS. GRIGGS. 

MAID. 




Copyright, 18S9, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 



if/ 1 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — Staunton's room in a lodging-house, meagrely 
furnished. Door, l., in flat ; door, R. ; window, R., in 
flat ; table, R. ; easy-chair, L. ; secretary, to lock, at back. 
Helen and Dr. Procter discovered. 

Dr. Procter (c, pompously). As I before elucidated to 
you, my dear young lady, skilled competence and proficiency 

— in other words, a trained nurse. 

Helen {down R. at table). But I love nursing. 

Dr. Proct. You are — permit the personality — exces- 
sively youthful, absolutely inexperienced. 

Hel. Why, I'm almost eighteen. 

Dr. Proct. And your father's condition necessitates 
unceasing supervision. These — er- — drops at intervals of 

— um — half an hour. 
Hel. Yes, sir. 

Dr. Proct. And two-thirds of a wine-glass of old port 
every two hours. 

Hel. Yes, sir. 

Dr. Proct. Exercise great discretion concerning the 
port. Gross & Paige keep the only port in the city in the 
least suitable for a refined and delicate palate. Then, any 
trifle that might tempt the capricious appetite of a convales- 
cent. Er — um — Hamburg grapes — er — peaches — the 
breast of a partridge — er — er — dairy cream — in short, any 
little trifle of that character. 

Hel. Yes, sir. {Aside.) And only ten dollars in the 
house ! 

Dr. Proct. Following which treatment, a trip to the 
South as soon as locomotion appears desirable. Above all, 



4 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

no undue excitement. In other words, no cerebral per- 
turbation. You — eh — comprehend? I make myself — eh 
— lucid ? 

Hel. Yes, sir. I think I understand. {Aside.) Though, 
where the money is to come from I do not understand. 

Dr. Proct. You may expect me in the morning. Er — 
good-day — Miss — er — er — Staunton. 

Hel. Good-morning, Dr. Procter. {Exit Dr. Procter 
d. L. in F.) Wine! Hamburg grapes ! A journey to the 
South ! Poor father ! And our purse growing lighter every 
hour. How much have I ? {Counts her money.} Ten dol- 
lars and forty cents — and after that is gone! Ten dollars 
all that is left from the sale of that valuable autograph letter 
of Washington's ! It brought us one hundred dollars, but 
how quickly one hundred dollars go ! Could I borrow from 
Hal? {Goes L.) No, no ; from him least of all He must 
not even suspect our strait. He sees me well dressed — he 
does not fancy that these are the last of all my pretty clothes. 
Father always would give me such lovelv tilings, even when 
he couldn't afford it. {A knock at D. in F.) Come in. 
{Enter Mrs. Griggs, d. in f.) 

Mrs G. {at door). The young feller that's keepin' com- 
pany with \ou 's ringin' at the front-door bell. 

Hel. Mrs. Griggs, if you please, there is no young man 
keeping company with me. 

Mrs. G. Oil, they ain't ! Well, then, if they ain't — if he 
ain't — and he's quite easy in his pocket, I should say — I'll 
just trouble you for that rent ; that's all. 

Hel. Mrs. Griggs, I must ask you to wait a little longer. 

Mrs. G. Wait? And haven't I been waitin'. patient as 
a lamb, bein' convinced that young feller meant business, 
and would hand over so'thin' handsome soon as you was 
engaged ? 

Hel. Mrs. Griggs, if ever — (Hal appears at D. in f.) 

Hal Good-morning, Mis_s Helen. Oh, Mrs. Griggs, 
good-morning. 

Hel. Good-morning, Mr. Masters. 

Mrs. G. We was just talkin' about you. 

Hal. That's what made my ear burn so. 

Hel. Come in, Mr. Masters. {Goes tip.) 

Mrs. G. I'd like to have a few words with you in private, 
Mr. Masters, when you're through here. 

Hal. Oh, certainly, 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 5 

Hel. {drawing him in and shutting the door on Mrs. G.). 
Promise me you won't let her speak to you. 

Hal. I can't say I'm very anxious for an interview, but 
why — 

Hel. Because I — well, because — 

Hal. That's quite sufficient reason. I'll avoid Mrs. 
Griggs. I'll sneak out and in the back way. I'll — but I 
beg your pardon, how's your father ? {Comes down to C.) 

Hel. About the same. {Down to R.) 

Hal. In bed still ? 

Hel. No, up and around, but feverish and restless. 
Something seems preying on his mind. He wakes and 
calls out at night in such an agonized way — 

Hal. Can I see him ? 

Hel. No, he's asleep now. 

Hal. Isn't there anything I can do ? What has Old Port 
ordered for him ? 

Hel. Old Port ? 

Hal. I beg his pardon, Dr. Procter. Old Port is what 
we call him at,the Medical School, because he cures every- 
thing, from a sprained finger to lockjaw, with a glass of old 
port. I'm sure, now, he's ordered your father some old 
port. 

Hel. Yes, he has. 

Hal. I thought so. Now, I've got in the cellar at home 
— that is, we've got — my Uncle John, you know ; I say we 
because he goes shares with everything — 

Hel. What a dear old gentleman your uncle must be. 

Hal. Old gentleman ! Why, Uncle John is barely forty, 
and hasn't a gray hair. 

Hel. Except what you have caused him. 

Hal. Oh, that kind doesn't count ! But this old port of 
his — I'll bring you round a half a dozen bottles. 

Hel. Oh, no. 

Hal. Oh, yes. Good-by. I'll run round now. {Goes 
up to door and comes back.) Oh, by the way — 

Hel. Yes, 

Hal. There are some things we don't go shares in — 
Uncle John and I. 

Hel. Debts? 

Hal. Debts ? No, bless him, if I had any, he'd insist on 
taking them all himself. No — secrets ! 

Hel. So he has a cellar full of secrets as well as of port ? 



6 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Hal. Uncle John, secrets ? What an idea ! You ought 
to see him ! He's a complete book-worm, except when he's 
oft" fishing and tramping ; and then he's the jolliest, drollest 
— but secrets, the kind of secrets I mean — why, do you 
know, he can't endure women. 

Hel. Why. I thought you said he was nice ! 

Hal. But, then, perhaps Aunt Libby — that's his only 
sister — has something to do with his opinion of women. 
(Goes up to door and returns.) You — you haven't asked 
me what my secret is. 

Hel. It wouldn't be a secret if you told me, would it? 

Hal. There's nothing cosier than a secret just for two; 
is there, now ? (Takes her hand.) 

Hel. It depends on the two. (Draws away.) 

Hal. Yes, of course ; and then, when one of the two 
is dependent on (aside) Uncle John, who holds the purse- 
strings. (Aloud.) But I must go. I'll be right back with 
the port. I'll bring it round in six trips, a bottle at a time. 
Goocl-by. 

Hel. Good-by. 

Hal. Good-by. (Aside.) I'll have to bottle myself up, 
or — (Exit D. L. in F. ) 

Hel. That dreadful Mrs. Griggs. (Up c.) If she 
should speak to him ! (Looking out of door.) There she 
is now; he sees her — he's running. He pretends not to 
notice her. She's calling after him. He won t hear. There, 
he's out of sight. (Down R.) 

(Mrs. G. appears at door.) 

Mrs. G. Rather hard of hearin', that young feller, ain't 
he? 

Hel. Oh, Mrs. Griggs, I must just step out for a moment 
to the druggist. Father is asleep, but if he should wake and 
call, will vou come in ? 

Mrs. G. Yes, I'll be round. (Exit.) 

Hel. (looking in at chainber door, R.). Yes, he's fast 
asleep still. I'll only be gone -a moment. I would have 
asked Mr. Masters to get the medicine for me, but that nice 
old druggist is so kind, and calls me "my child," and gives 
me the drugs cheaper than to anybody else, and a few cents 
mean so much just now. Hark ! (Distant thunder.) I 
must make haste before the storm is here. (Exit D. in F.) 

Staunton (calling from within). Helen! Helen! It's 
here again. Priscilla, why will you torment me so! (He 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 7 

enters, R., half awake, supporting himself feebly on chairs 
and tables as he moves .) Helen! Helen! Priscilla ! 
(Enter Priscilla, d. in f.) 

Pris. Who calls ? What is it ? 

Staunt. {starting as he sees her). Priscilla! 

Pris. How do you know me by name? 

Staunt. {trembling, r.). Priscilla ! 

Pr'S. Why, is it, can it be, Philip Staunton ? (Down c.) 

Staunt. (gazing at her wildly'). Why do you haunt me 
so, Priscilla? I cannot drop off to sleep but I dream of you. 
I wake, and you are by my pillow. Is it because you know 
I am dying that you dog my steps ? 

Pris. {aside). Ill — aged — wandering in mind ! Can this 
be Philip Staunton ? {Aloud.) Why, Philip, we have not 
met these twenty years, you. and I. 

Staunt. Do you think to draw it out of me with those 
eves of yours, Priscilla ? Why will you not let me die in 
peace ? 

Pris. (soothingly). Sit down, Philip. Come, let me make 
you comfortable in this big ciiair. There. And where shall 
I find a pillow for 'your back? In the next room ? (Exit 
into .bed-chamber, r.) 

Staunt. (going l.). Die in peace. If only she would let 
me die in peace ! (Sits L.) 

(Enter Pris. r.) 

Pris. (to l., arranging the pillow). There. And now let 
me fan you. Your head is hot. Feel how cool my hands 
are. 

Staunt. Is it really you, Priscilla ? 

Pris. Really I. {Sits near him.) 

Staunt. (coming to himself). I am afraid I was only half 
awake when I first came in. I had been dreaming. Do you 
ever dream, Priscilla ? 

Pris. (sighing). Yes, Philip. 

Staunt. They are ugly things, these dreams, and when 
you are ill and weak, Priscilla, how all the faces of those you 
have injured in your life rise up before you. 

Pris. I don't know, Philip. I never wilfully injured any 
living being; nor you either, I trust. 

Staunt. (roused). Wilfully ? Who said anything about 
wilfully ? Of course no one injures a friend wilfully; it's 
because one is tempted ; because one's blood is hot; because 
to cwn anything so sweet and bewildering as a young girl 



8 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

one is willing to go through — Why do you listen to me so 
intently, Priscilla ? Don't mind what I say. I'm ill. I'm 
an old man, Priscilla, an old man. 

Pris. Only sixty, Philip. 

Staunt. Two and twenty years between us. I left you 
a girl of eighteen. 

Pris. The girl of eighteen is now a woman of eight and 
thirty. 

Staunt. No, no, Priscilla, don't ask me to believe that ; 
and why do you wear black ? I always think of you in 
white, with a spray of lilacs in your belt. Where are your 
sisters ? 

Pris. Dead. 

Staunt. And the old place ? 

Pris. Gone. Everything is gone. I am a poor woman 
now. 

Staunt. I might have known you were poor to come 
here. When did you come ? 

Pris. Last evening. 

Staunt. And you — you never married ? 

Pris. I never married. 

Staunt. And — John Masters ? 

Pris. John Masters and I have not met for twenty years. 

Staunt. Not since the night — 

Pris. {rising and going to R., agitated}. Not since the 
night — 

Staunt. {hastily). You mustn't mind anything you have 
heard me say, Priscilla. I'm ill. I'm not long for this 
world. I want Helen to love her father's memory, and if 
she should fancy — 

Pris. Helen ? 

Staunt. My daughter. I married soon after you sent 
me away, Priscilla. She's dead now, Beatrice, my wife ; but 
Helen — Ah, there she is now ! 

{Enter Hel., d. l. in F.) 

Hel. Why, father ! {Down L. to him.) 

Pris. {to a). An old friend of your father's. I heard 
him calling, and stepped in. I am lodging here now. My 
room is just next. 

Hel. Oh. how can I thank you ! Did you want me, 
father? I was longer than I meant to be. 

Staunt. Oh, I was well cared for, Helen, well cared for. 

Pris. She does not look like you, Philip. 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 9 

Staunt. No, thank fortune, there's not much of me in her. 

Pris. We must learn to know each other. I knew your 
father when I was a girl of eighteen and he the most fearless 
rider and best dancer in the county. 

Staunt. Ar.d now look at us. I gray and broken, and 
you slight and graceful still as a girl. Well, well. 

Pris. (to Helen). Why do you look at me so wistfully? 
{She takes Helen's hand.) 

Hel. Your eyes make me think of mamma's. I have no 
mother, you know. 

Pris. (putting her arm arottnd Helen). Poor child. 

Staunt. (aside). So Helen notices it. too. It was Bea- 
trice's likeness to Priscilla that drew me to her. 

Hel. May I bring my work sometimes and sit with you? 

Pris. (kissing he r). The oftener the better, dear. 

Hel. And you will tell me all about father when you used 
to know him. Did you know mamma, too ? 

Pris. No, I never saw your mother. But now I must go. 
I shall expect you at my door very soon. Good-morning, 
Philip. Your little Helen and I are going to be fast friends. 

Staunt. Good-morning. 

Hel. Good-morning, and thank you so much. {Exit 
Pris. d. l. in f.) Father, who is she ? What lovely eyes • 
and hair, and hasn't she a sweet voice ? But why does she 
look so sad ? I think I never saw so sad a face. 

Staunt. (irritated). No sadder than most faces ; and 
when a woman has lost her parejits and brothers and sisters 
and — and a handsome fortune, she has a right to look sad, 
hasn't she ? 

Hel. What ! is she poor too? (c ) 

Staunt. Do you think she would come and lodge here 
if she were not? But there, there, my little girl, don't 
indulge in foolish fancies about people's being sad. Come 
here and tell your old dad you love him. 

Hel. Dearest, dearest father. 

Staunt. A disreputable, battered old hulk, but you cher- 
ish a lingering fondness for him? Eh>? 

Hel. I wouldn't have you a bit different for all the world. 

Staunt. {caressing her). Your mother wanted a boy, 
but from the first moment you were put into my arms I 
knew you were to be the blessing of my life. A man doesn't 
often love two women as passionately as I have loved you 
and — and — 



10 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Hel. And mamma. 

Staunt. {changing his tone). Of course — your — mother, 
Heien. 

Hel. Father, dear — (She feels in his vest pocket.} 

Staunt. What are you fumbling for in my pocket? 

Hel. The key of the secretary. 

Staunt. What do you want out of the secretary? 

Hel. Just a little money, dearest. 

Staunt. There's no money there. . 

Hel. I know it, but there's one more letter still of your 
autograph collection. 

Staunt. You don't mean to say the one hundred we 
raised on the last is all gone ! 

Hel. Oh, no — not all gone yet. (Aside.') He must not 
suspect how nearly. 

Staunt. There are no more letters. That was the last. 
Valuable autographs of Clay, Hamilton, Washington, Macau- 
lay — all gone to pay for board and lodging in this vile rat- 
hole ! Pah ! 

Hel. Oh, but there is one more letter. 

Staunt. Whose ? 

Hel. It had slipped down behind a drawer. It's not 
mounted like the others. It was signed Priscilla. 

Staunt. (starting). Priscilla! 

Hel. Is it from Priscilla, the Puritan maiden, father, to 
John Alden? 

Staunt. Open the window. This room is stifling. Give 
me a glass of water. (Hele'n does so.) There, there ! 

Hel. It's the thunder in the air. A storm is brewing. 

Staunt. (aside). Fool that I have been not to destroy it 
years ago. (Aloud.) Helen, how often must I tell you that 
my private papers are not to be disturbed ? 

Hel. But, father, your autograph letters — you always let 
me read your autograph letters. 

Staunt. (agitated). What? You read this — 

Hel. No, I didn't happen to, father, but I might have. 

Staunt. It's a most dangerous habit, this reading other 
people's letters. 

Hel. But an autograph letter — 

Staunt. A valuable autograph letter especially. It wears 
them out. Helen, I am very much displeased with you. 

Hel. I am very sorry, father. I suppose it is exceed- 
ingly valuable. From Priscilla, you said. To John Alden ? 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. I I 

Staunt. Of course. What other Priscilla could there 
be, whose autograph letter I should be likely to have. Cer- 
tainly — Priscilla to John Alden. {Aside.) I'll destroy it 
this very day. 

Hel. {to table, R. ; aside). How disturbed he looks ! The 
slightest tiling puts him into a fever. Poor father ! {Mixes 
drops) Here, father, it's time for your drops. {To L.) 

Staunt. Remember, Helen, that my private papers are 
not to be interfered with. 

Hel. No, father. {Aside.) Oh, dear ! Dr. Procter 
warned me he was not to be disturbed or excited. If only 
he can sleep now ! 

Staunt. Drugs. Why do you give drugs to a dying man ? 

Hel. You are better, father, — oh, so much stronger and 
better. And now won't you try and sleep? 

Staunt. I hate sleep ! Sleep is well enough for young 
things like you, Helen, but for us ! Why, when we give our- 
selves up to sleep, it's like going bound into a tiger's cage, 
and all the jeering, snarling faces press close about, and one 
so powerless to lift a finger ! Sleep ! I hate sleep ! 

Hel. Oh, poor father ! is it so bad as that ! {Aside.) 
He's worse. I must quiet him. {Aloud.) Come, clear ; the 
other room is cooler. 

Staunt. Why are you always shifting me about ? Well, 
well ! I spoiled you ; I always did. {She helps him to rise.) 
But you love your old dad? There, there — {Exeunt D. 
r., Helen supporting Staunton. A knock. Enter Hal 
d. in F., with wine, fruit, and /lowers.) 

Hal. Did some one say come in ? No, no one did. 
Well, I'll just leave this wine {to table, R. Pulls out two 
bottles of wine and puts them on table) and this fruit and 
these white lilacs. I wonder if she'll think the lilacs are for 
her father ? 

{Enter Mrs. G., d. in F.) 

Mrs. G. Oh, there you are. {Aside.) Fruit and flowers. 
Hm — and she said he wasn't keepin' company. {Aloud.) 
You're just the person I wanted to see. {Down c.) 

Hal. {aside). I promised I wouldn't. {Aloud.) Oh, 
certainly, Mrs. Griggs. Quite at your service. You don't 
mind scarlet fever, of course. 

Mrs. G. Scarlet fever ! 

Hal. Seventeen cases at the hospital — but, as I said 
before — 



12 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Mrs. G. Out of this house, sir. {Draws back skirts.~) 

Hal. But you wished to see me. 

Mrs. G. Do you want to scare all my lodgers away ? 
The sooner you leave these premises — 

Hal. Oh, very well. Good-morning. {Exit D. in f.) 

Hel. {enters R.). I thought 1 heard talking — Oh, Mrs. 
Griggs — 

Mrs. G. Of all rash, reckless — Well, Miss Helen, how 
about the rent ? 

Hel. Please, speak softly. My father is just falling 
asleep — 

Mrs. G. Haven't I been speakin' softly for five months ? 

Hel. I know we are behindhand, but my father's illness 
— all the necessary expenses — 

Mrs. G. {going to door, speaks to Sheriff outside). Just 
step this way, will you? 

{Enter Sheriff, d. in f.) 

Sheriff (l.). This is a disagreeable duty, miss. 

Hel. What do you mean ? 

Mrs. G. Oh, yes. I wonder what he can mean ? 

Sheriff. I am ordered to eject you. 

Hel. Eject us ! 

Mrs. G. In plain English, you are to pack — bag and 
baggage. 

Hel. But we can't — My father is ill — 

Mrs. G. That's your lookout. 

Hel. It would kill him to move. 

Mrs. G. Then pay up. 

Sheriff {to Mrs. G.). Come now, I wouldn't be too hard 
on her. 

Mrs. G. That's none of your business. Go ahead, go 
ahead. The furniture in this room is mine, but their things 
is in the next room. That door there. 

Sheriff {moving towards door, R.). Very sorry, miss. 

Hel. {barring the door). You sha'n't go in. 

Sheriff. Oh, come now. 

Mrs. G. Go ahead. It's only a trick. 

Hel. My father is ill — it may be dying. The physician 
said any excitement would be fatal. We have no money — 
here — take all we have — {Opens purse?) A few dollars — 
the rest went this morning for medicine. If you have a heart 
in your bosom, take pity on us. 

Sheriff. I don't like this business. 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 13 

Mrs. G. (to Sheriff). She's rich friends. She could get 
the money easy as nothing. Go ahead. 

Sheriff (pushing Helen aside, and taking hold of the 
handle of the chamber door). Law's law, miss. (A peal of 
thunder.') 

Hel. (seizing his, arm). Hear that crash ! You cannot 
be so cruel as to thrust us out into the storm. (It grows 
darker.) Oh. if you have wife or children at home, have 
mercy on us. 

Sheriff. 'Tain't me ; it's the law. 

Hel. Stand back ! 

Sheriff. The law. 

Hel. Stand back, I say ! She shall be paid, that harpy 
there. Leave the room, both of you ! Don't you hear me 
say she shall be paid ? 

Sheriff. Well, now, that sounds like business. 

Mrs. G. Didn't I tell you she could if she'd a mind to ! 

Hel. Give me one hour and you shall have your money. 

Mrs. G. Nothin' like a. good scare to — 

Hel. Not another word. Leave the room, both of you. 
In an hour you shall be paid. 

Sheriff. I'm just as well pleased to be out of this. 

MRS. G. Don't you budge out of the house till I get my 
grip on my rent. Come into the settin'-room and have a cup 

of tea. 

(Exeunt Sheriff and Mrs. G., d. in f.) 
Hel. That valuable autograph letter. I can raise some- 
thin^ on that ; or, if that fails, my pride to the winds, and I 
will borrow of Hal. But how to get the key of the secretary 
without waking father! (Opens chamber door, R., and looks 
in.) Fast asleep. He must be fast asleep not to have heard 
their hateful voices. (Exit into bed-chamber. Returns with 
key.) Poor father, he did not feel me take the key from his 
pocket. (Goes to secretary and unlocks it. Takes out 
papers.) Ah, here it is, yellow with age. Priscilla. That's 
it. Now I'll ask that old friend of father's it she will be 
within call in case he wakes. I wonder what her name is. 
Thunder again ! I must hurry into my dress. Poor father ! 
(Exit, D. in F., as curtain falls.) 



14 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 



ACT II. 

Scene. — Library at John Masters's. Doors R., L., and c. 
Books and pictures ad libitum. Enter, as curtain rises, 
Hal, c, with a bottle of wine under each arm, followed 

by Aunt Libby. 

Aunt L. It's not the port I object to, Hal; it's your 
principles. {Down L.) 

Hal. Oil, my principles are quite as excellent as the port, 
Aunt Libby. (c.) 

Aunt L. This is the second pair of bottles I've seen you 
carrying up the cellar stairs to-day, as carefully as if they 
were twins. 

Hal. Rather ancient, cobwebby twins. What's their 
age? {Examines label.) 1840 seems to be the date of 
birth. 

Aunt L. With all your faults, Hal, I never expected to 
see you fill a drunkard's grave. 

Hal. Gracious, Aunt Libby! you don't expect I'm going 
to drink all this myself, do you ? 

Aunt L. Who is to drink it, I should like to know ? 

Hal. A friend. 

Aunt L. A pretty kind of friend indeed. 

Hal. You are right there, Aunt Libby. 

Aunt L. I can fancy just what kind of a friend it is. 

Hal. I doubt it. (Goes R.) 

Aunt L. And how your friend will look when you appear 
laden with this intoxicating gift. ( To c.) 

Hal. So can I. (Pursuing his own train of thought.) 

Aunt L. (paying no attention to him). It must be that 
red-nosed young man called Sparks. 

Hal. How her eyes will shine — but she'll shake her 
head and look reproachful. 

Aunt L. (paying no attention to Hal). I can picture 
his trembling hand, his blood-shot eyes — 

Hal. (pursuing his own reflections). The pretty flush on 
her cheeks — 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 1 5 

Aunt L. The almost purple hue of his nose. Hal, can 
you justify it to your conscience to make your friend's nose 
any redder than it already is ? 

Hal. Helen's nose red? Aunt Libby, what are you — 

Aunt L. Helen ? Who is Helen? 

Hal. Oh ! I did rather let the cat out of the bag that 
time, didn't I ? 

Aunt L. I insist on knowing who Helen is. 

Hal. Well, then, Aunt Libby, it's to Helen I'm carrying 
this wine. 

Aunt L. Goodness gracious ! What would your Uncle 
John say ? 

Hal. If he could once see her, he'd be doing it himself. 

Aunt L. Your Uncle John going about carrying bottles 
of wine to women called Helen ! If she drinks all this, she 
will develop as red a nose as yeur friend Sparks. {To L.) 

Hal {hotly, to a). Excuse me, Aunt Libby, but it seems 
to me you are taking unwarrantable liberties with the noses 
of my friends. I — 

Aunt L. A nose is a surer index of character than an 
eye, except, indeed, a black eye, which tells its own tale, and 
which your friend Sparksalso possesses. 

Hal. As for Miss Helen Staunton's nose, I cannot allow 
any one to mention it except in terms of the highest respect; 
and Sparks, poor Sparks ; considering he is the one Prohibi- 
tionist of our set, I think it's rather hard you should be 
designing him for a drunkard's grave. 

Aunt L. Don't try to make me believe Mr. Sparks is a 
teetotaler. 

Hal. He plays on the eleven. It's all sunburn. But 
where's Uncle John ? 

Aunt L. I want you first to tell me about the young 
woman. 

Hal. Well, Aunt Libby, it's a case of illness. The 
young lady's father is a convalescent. The port is for him. 

Aunt L. {to him, C.). Why didn't you say so before, 
Henry ? Convalescent ? Now wouldn't he enjoy a little 
blanc-mange or calves'-foot jelly or — 

Hal. I'm sure he would. 

Aunt L. None of your skim-milk blanc-mange, but made 
with real cream and blanched almonds, according to my 
grandmother's recipe. 

Hal. Aunt Libby, you are a jewel! 



l6 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Aunt L. And some calves'-foot jelly. The young people 
of the present day have not the first notion of genuine calves'- 
foot jelly. And how about a little delicate sponge cake to 
go with it ? What do the physicians nowadays say about 
sponge cake? In my day they used to recommend it. 

HaL {aside). It won't do not to appear to know. {Aloud) 
Well, Aunt Libby. physicians differ as to sponge cake. As 
the celebrated Dr. Rosicrucius says, " Sponge cake, like other 
porous and vascular bodies, is prone, when infiltrated with 
aqueous or other fluids, to take on a certain turgescent, 
bulbous, hypertrophied form, often oppressive to other organs 
contiguous to the digestive system." 

Aunt L. You don't say ! Then you wouldn't advise my 
sending any ? 

Hal. On the contrary, I should advise sending one of 
your largest loaves. {Aside.) Helen can eat it, if her father 
can't. 

Aunt L. Well, I'll go and start things. Just run down 
to the cellar, Hal, and bring up a bottle of Sicily Madeira. 
Here are the keys. 

Hal. All right. {Exeunt Hal, r., and Aunt L., c.) 
{Enter, l , John Masters. He wears a shade over his eyes) 

Mast. Another day of this and I shall go wild. A deaf 
man at a concert derives as much pleasure from the music 
as I in my library from my books. Here I am surrounded 
by them — good friends, the best of friends ever a man could 
have, his books — and not a word can I get out of one of them. 

{Enter Aunt Libby, c.) 

Aunt L. (r.). Oh, John dear, here you are. I was just 
setting about my blanc-mange when I remembered this was 
the time for your drops. 

Mast. (a). Confound the drops ! 

Aunt L. Where's the bottle? Oi, here. {Table, R.) 
How are your eyes ? 

Mast. Worse every time you put that nasty fluid into 
them. {Sits, L.) 

Aunt L. Oh, no, my clear, oh, no! Don't be childish, 
John, and peevish. {Goes to him.) Come, let me put the 
drops in, and then I'll read the morning news. Let me take 
the shade off. Now, put your head back. 

Mast, {submitting resignedly). Where's Hal? 

Aunt L. In the cellar. Now, my dear John, considering 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. \J 

you yourself, by disobeying orders and not following my 
advice, have brought this trouble on — 

Mast. Augh ! 

Aunt L. What's the matter ? 

Mast. It went into my ear. 

Aunt L. For you cannot deny that, if I warned you once, 
1 warned you fifty — 

Mast. My nose ! 

Aunt L. — times, but you would pay no attention, and 
consequently — 

Mast. I won't have the blinder on again. 

Aunt L. But, my dear John ! 

Mast. Through ? 

Aunt L. With the drops, yes — 

Mast. And the advice too ? 

Aunt L. No, indeed; I've only just begun. (Masters 
sighs.) That fine print — those horrid, old foreign books you 
pore over, and those letters in such disagreeable crabbed 
handwritings — if only you would confine yourself to large 
print now for the future, I am sure you would have no more 
trouble with your eyes. Why, for the whole winter I've been 
going through all of Buckminster's sermons merely because 
they happen to be in such beautiful large print. Why don't 
you say anything? You haven't gone to sleep, have you ? 

Mast. As if it were possible, Libby, to go to sleep while 
you are talking. I thought you said something about the 
newspaper. 

Aunt L. Oh, yes, — the paper. {To c, sits.) Now, 
here's the advertising column. Letters one quarter of an 
inch long, and really quite interesting and improving to the 
mind too. " Whole chamber sets for thirty to forty dollars 
upwards, of choice workmanship, elegant in designs and 
dainty in details, fitted to adorn " — 

Mast. Good heavens, Libby! I'm not a young sprig 
about to get married and set up housekeeping. 

Aunt '"L. Well. well. What do you want ? {Looks 
through paper.) President's message — hrri — m — foreign 
news — Inn — m — elcpement — tck-tck-tck — a war some- 
where in Africa — but those names are so very queer — bill 
passed the legislature — that doesn't look interesting — a fire 
— there's always a fire — man murders his wife— I can't 
endure murders — such bad taste. I don't see what you 
men find in the newspaper anyway. 



I 8 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Mast, {with closed eyes). What's Hal doing in the cellar? 

Aunt L. Oh, here's something interesting — 

Mast, (sitting up). What? 

Aunt L. Black satin coming into ,fashion again, so my 
old satin gown — 

Mast, {relapsing). It seems to me Hal's a precious long 
time in the cellar. 

Aunt L. Oh, here's something else. John, isn't it 
dreadful ? 

Mast. What? 

Aunt L. Large district devoted to buckwheat flooded — 
and Hal is so fond of buckwheat cakes for breakfast, though 
the amount of maple syrup he pours over them is enough to 
ruin his digestion, for — 

Mast. What's Hal doing in the cellar anyway? 

Aunt L. Oh, getting me some Sicily Madeira. Hm — m 
{looking through paper') — nothing else — really nothing. 
Bv the way. Walsingham — Walsingham — Let me see, 
that's the name of that queer man in baggy trousers and 
green spectacles, isn't it, that comes and brings you those 
dreadful old books ? 

Mast. I don't remember about his grousers, but he owns 
the rarest Alcline Aristotle in the country. What does it say 
about Walsingham ? 

Aunt L. Oh. nothing — merely that since acquiring the 
Brenton collection of autograph letters — 

M-AST. {starting up). The Brenton collection ! Walsing- 
ham acquired the Brenton collection ! 

Aunt L. {reading). '• Mr. Walsingham has now probably 
the most valuable collection of autograph letters in private 
hands." 

Mast. How did he come by them ? Where did he run 
across them ? What did he pay ? What else does it say ? 

Aunt L. Why, how excited you get over trifles, John ; 
and black satin might go in and Out of fashion twenty times 
a year, and you wouldn't wink. ' That's all about Mr. Wal- 
singham. 

Mast. Walsingham's a lucky fellow. 
{Enter Hal, r.) 

Hal. I put your wine in the pantry, Aunt Libby. 

Aunt L. {rising). Hal, I'll leave you to entertain your 
uncle now. I've read all there was of any interest in the 
newspaper. On the pantry shelf, you said ? (Exit C. D.) 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. ig 

Hal (to a). Well, Uncle John, how goes it? 

Mast. Oh, tolerably, except for the eye water. It puts 
me back every time. 

Hal. Where women and medicine are concerned, Uncle 
John, you are a perfect old cynic. 

Mast. I've tried both — 

Hal. And survived both, so you see neither is fatal. 
{Hesitatingly.') Uncle John — 

Mast. Yes. 

Hal (taking another chair, R.). Uncle John — 

Mast. Well. 

H a-l {rising' again j toe). Uncle John — 

Mast. Good Lord, Hal ! has it come to this ? 

Hal. To what ? 

Mast. Doesn't the mere fact that you are incapable of 
looking me in the eye prove to you that you are doing some- 
thing you ought to be ashamed of? 

Hal. I'm not ashamed of it. 

Mast. Then out with it. After all, you are more to be 
pitied than blamed. First mumps — then measles — then 
scarlet fever — then hobbledehoyism — then — out with it, 
Hal. Who is she? (Rises.) 

Hal. It's impossible to talk to you, Uncle John, after 
this. You — you — take all the poetry out of it. 

Mast. I've only been doing what Father Time will sooner 
or later. ( To R.) 

Hal. Not in my case. (Sits, C.) 

Mast. It's all very pretty, Hal, at your age, I know. It's 
like looking at the dew on the meadow grass in the morning 
from the vantage ground of the gravel path ; but leave the 
gravel path and brush through the dew, and you find it 
mighty nasty walking. 

Hal. I knew your opinion of women, Uncle John, but I 
did not think you'd make it so hard for me. 

Mast. Hard! 1 wish some one had tried to make it 
hard for me. It would have been easier afterwards. But 
there, my boy, sit down. I'll listen to you. Only don't 
dwell too rapturously on her perfections — I'll listen to 
you. 

Hal. Uncle John, I know I owe you everything from the 
time I was so high, but a word of sympathy at this crisis 
would be worth all you have done for me twice over. 

Mast, (aside). Poor boy! (Aloud.) Sympathize? I 



20 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

do sympathize with you profoundly, Hal. You are a case 
for sympathy. 

Hal {starting up). No, I'm 'not a case for sympathy. 
You ought to wish me joy! It's the highest, most over- 
whelming thing that could come to a man — to love any one 
as pure and sweet and beautiful as Helen ! But why do I 
talk? You don't know anything about it ! {To L.) 

Mast, {taking out a cigarette). So her name is Helen ! 
{Aside.) Poor boy ! The greater the rapture now, the 
deeper the after disappointment. {Sits, R.) 

Hal {to c). I was coming to you with a plan. I had 
meant to say, " Uncle John, you have done everything for 
me" — • 

Mast. That's not worth talking about. Got a match ? 

Hal {giving him one). You have put me through Exe- 
ter and Harvard, you are footing my bills at the Medical 
School — 

Mast. Well, sir, if I cl oose to, what concern is it of 
yours ? 

Hal. You even intended sending me to Vienna for two 
years, to finish my medical course. 

Mast. Say intend, not intended. 

Hal. No, intended. Uncle John, for that's all past. What 
I meant to ask was that you would lend me half the sum all 
this would cost, and let me leave my profession and take a 
clerkship. In a year I should be earning enough to sup- 
port — 

Mast. A wife and family. Oh, you young fools, you 
young fools ! 

Hal. Uncle John — 

Mast. And to think I pulled you through the scarlet 
fever for this ! 

Hal. I say I did intend asking you this, but now — now 
that you have said such things of Helen — 

Mast. What in the devil's, name have I said against 
Helen ? 

Hal. You insisted that she was not worth the paltry sac- 
rifice of my profession. 

Mast. O Hal, Hal ! As if there were a woman in the 
world worth the sacrifice of a cigarette. 

Hal. You never saw Helen. 

Mast. 1 never want to. 

Hal. So gentle, so sweet, so noble — 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 21 

Mast. Spare me, Hal. {Rising.) 

Hal. If I spare you Helen, I'll spare you my sett Do 
you think I can go on taking your money while you insult 
the woman I love ! I'll go "this instant and look up some 
employment — I'll — j 

Mast, {to c, taking him by the arm). Hal, Hal ! don t 
let a woman come between us. They are not worth it, my 
bov, thev are not worth it. 

Hal. One could see you had never been in love. 

Mast. Never been in love ! Never been in love ! {He 
moves away to L., and seats himself.) Hal, come here. 
{He speaks with an effort.) Would my words come to you 
with more weight if '1 told you that I — Sit down, Hal. 
{Pause; Hal sits, l.) Hal, there was a woman once — 
there are none quite like her now. The rosebud freshness 
seems lacking in the young girls of nowadays. 

Hal. Wait till you see Helen ! 

Mast. Such a voice, Hal — so gentle and caressing — 
and her eves — you never dreamed of such _ eyes —and_ the 
proud, womanly' curves of her lips, and then her hair — 
{Laughs cynically.) I beg your pardon, Hal ; I did not 
mean to inflict all this on you 

Hal. Oh, go on. Everything you say just describes 
Helen. . _ . 

Mast. Helen? Helen could no more compare with Fris- 
cilla than — there, there. I beg your pardon. I will stick to 
facts merely. 

Hal. So her name was Priscilla ? 

Mast. Who told you that? 

Hal. Why, you yourself, just now. Priscilla— I like the 
name. . 

Mast. I used to think it the divinest melody in the 
world ; though, for the matter of that, I remember fancying 
that when she said '-John," which is certainly not a remark- 
ably euphonious name, that too was pure music. 

Hal. I know just how it sounded. You ought to hear 
Helen say Hal. I made her one day. 

Mast. Well, Hal, Priscilla and I were engaged. 

Hal. You engaged ! 

Mast. Nine happy months we were engaged. 1 believed 
she loved me. She made me think so. Then came a lovers' 
quarrel. 

Hal. Yes — 



22 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Mast. It happened at a country ball. I was jealous of 
the attentions of another man. I left her in anger. She was 
proud, and my last words were, let it all be over between us 
{rises and moves R.) — over between us. 

Hal. Poor Uncle John. 

Mast, {returning to a). That night, after I had galloped 
home under the stars, I wrote her a wild letter. I reproached 
her for my wasted love, but I implored her, if she ever had 
cared for me, to ssnd me a word, a flower — the slightest 
token. I waited in feverish pain. Hours passed — clays. 
Not a word. The next thing I heard was that she was to be 
married to my rival. 

Hal. Heartless jilt ! 

Mast. Let her rest in peace. 

Hal. And you — what did you do ? 

Mast. I took the next steamer for Germany. Life 
abroad suited me. I sta\ed ten years. Then my sister 
Mary, your mother, died, and I came back and took you. 

Hal. And Priscilla ? 

Mast. For years, I never let any one mention her name 
to me. All I know is that the man she chose is now a wid- 
ower. When or where she died I never heard. I have lived 
buried in my books, as you know. 

Hal {aside). Poor Uncle John ! 

Mast. Now, Hal, take the word of a man who has been 
through this fever in the blood — who has lived it down and 
come out sane and safe. You don't want to marry a pretty 
fool ; you don't want to marry a sage in petticoats. Woman 
is too light weight to carry both heart and head. Your Aunt 
Libby has heart. Priscilla had head, and i give her credit for 
that. 

Hal. Helen has both heart and head. 

Mast. Look at me. What more should I want? I have 
my books, my pipe, my fire, your Aunt Libby to order my 
meals, and you to turn of! my .superfluous advice upon. 
Slick to your profession, Hal ; and if, as you grow gray, 
you crave young blood about you, take to your heart some 
young rascal as I took you, through with his teething and 
squalling, and unencumbered by a mother ; and may he turn 
out a comfortable nuisance to you as you were to me, before 
this Helen of Troy lit the torches of war in our peaceful 
citadel. 

Hal {rises). Uncle John, if you could but see her! 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 23 

{Enter Aunt Libby, c. d.) 

Aunt L. John, come — change your coat — quick! 

Mast. Why, in Heaven's name ? 

Aunt L. {down R.) There's a young girl asking to see 
you. 

Mast. This coat is quite good enough for any young girl 
in creation. 

Aunt L. I insist, John, on your changing your coat. 
This is frayed around the button-holes; and what reports 
would be carried abroad if I let you appear like this, I can- 
not say. Come ! She's taking off her waterproof in the 
passage. Come ! 

Mast, {going r.). If you only realized, Libby, how much 
more comfortable a frayed coat was than a whole one. 

{Exeunt Aunt L. and Mast., r. Enter Maid, c. d.) 

Maid. This way, miss. Mr. Masters will be right in. 

{Eiiter Helen, c. d. ; exit Maid.) 

Hel. {aside). What a delightful house ! {Perceives Hal.) 
Oh, Mr. Masters ! 

Hal {rising, l.). Helen ! Miss Staunton ! 

Hel. {aside, a). Oh, dear! I hoped he would be at the 
Medical School. 

Hal {to c, ecstatically). You needed something? You 
came to see me ? 

Hel. I came to see your uncle. 

Hal {taken aback). Uncle John ! But I thought you 
didn't know him. 

Hel. Would you mind, please — I — I — should like to 
see him alone. 

Hal. Alone ! 

Hel. Yes, alone. 

Hal {aside). What can she want to see him alone for? 

Hel. I think I hear him coming. 

Hal {aside). She seems very anxious to get rid of me. 
She doesn't mention the lilacs I left for her. {Stiffly.) Oh, 
certainly ; I'll not force myself upon you. Good-morn- 
ing. 

Hel. Good-morning. {Exit Hal, l.) Foolish boy ! 
{Enter Masters, r. ; aside.) So this is Hal's Uncle John. 

Mast. (r.). Oh, good-morning. You wanted to see me? 

Hel. I came here from Mr. Walsingham's. 

Mast. Ah ! 



24 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Hel. I went there to show him a valuable autograph 
letter. His son told me his father was away, but spoke of 
you as also being interested in such matters. 

Mast. Yes. 

Hel. (aside). How stiff and ungetatable Hal's Uncle John 
is. {Aloud.) Mr. Walsingham has, at different times, pur- 
chased autograph letters from my father. My father owned 
part of the celebrated Brenton collection. 

Mast, {interested). The Brenton collection? Indeed! 
So it was of your father Mr. Walsingham purchased the 
Brenton collection ? 

Hel. I have here the last letter of that collection. 

Mast, {to a). Oh, indeed! indeed! Where is it? 
Allow me to look at it. Ah — my eyes — that confounded 
— I beg your pardon — that unfortunate eye-wash. It makes 
everything a blur. 

Hel. The letter is one from PrisciUa to John Alden. 

Mast, {excited). No, really ! That is indeed a priceless 
autograph! Let me see it. (Helen hands letter.) But 
what a careless way to treat so valuable a document ! 

Hel. Most of the letters were mounted, of course; but 
this one never was. 

Mast, {aside). That confounded eye-wash! I can 
make out nothing but yellow note-paper and a faint scrawl. 
{Aloud.) Of course, belonging to the Brenton collection, 
the genuineness of this autograph cannot be questioned. 
Might I trouble you to read it to me? 

Hel. Oh, certainly, if I can. The handwriting is faint. 
{Opens letter.) Ah ! 

Mast. What is it ? 

Hel. {stooping). Why, this fell out. Look ! A pressed 
flower — a white lilac ! 

Mast. Let me see. 

Hel. To think of its lying all these years in this letter. 
It's still sweet. 

Mast. What is the date ? 

Hel. It's not dated at all. 

Mast, {impatiently). Just like a woman ! 

Hel. There's no heading either. (Reading.) ''You beg 
me for the slightest token — a flower, a word — to tell you 1 
once loved you. Here is a sprig of white lilac. I reach 
from my window to pull it, all dewy wet. I have kissed it a 
hundred times, but the word — O John, John, an ocean of 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 25 

words could not bear you my love, my longing, my agony of 
soul ! " 

Mast. That's no language of two hundred years ago ! 

Hel. Did Puritan maidens write like this? 

Mast. You say the letter belonged to the Brenton collec- 
tion. This is no Puritan maiden. But go on — go on. 

Hel. {reading). '• All night I have sat at my window, 
and now the sun is rising behind the pines on Randolph 
Hill— " 

Mast: (starting). Randolph Hill! (To L.) 

Hel. Yes, Randolph Hill. I'm sure it's Randolph Hill. 

Mast. Go on. 

Hel. " It strikes the elm at the foot of the lawn, where 
you and I have sat every day together hand in hand." 

Mast, (dreamily). '' Where you and I have sat every 
day together hand in hand." (Aside.) The old, old 
story. 

Hel. (reading). "O John, the torture of this night has 
changed me from the shy girl who trembled at your passion- 
ate kisses to a woman conscious that without you life would 
be as day without its sun, as night without its 'stars ! Time 
after time since we pirtel have I cone over the terrible 
night: the glitter, the whirl of the ball-room — your jealous 
eyes — Philip's unsought attentions — " 

Mast, (starting). Philip? Not Philip! It cannot be 
Philip ! 

Hel. But it is. Look for yourself. Oh. I forgot. 

Mast, (sitting down, l.). Of course ; why mightn't it be 
Philip? But Randolph Hill, and the elm at the foot of the 
lawn, and Philip. Go on, go on. 

Hel. (reading). "Then the hurried parting on the porch 
— your words, 'Let all be over between us.' Your, riding 
away under the stars — my bursting heart — the hateful 
mockery of the gay music within — " 

Mast, (rising and striding to Helen, a). What, in 
Heaven's name, are you inventing there ? 

Hel. It's all as I read it — 

Mast, {looking over). Go on — where are you ? " Mock- 
ery of the gay music — " Oh, to be able to see! Go on, I 
say, 

Hel. (reading). " I look at the little ring you gave me, 
and it whispers hope — the little ring with the motto that 
only you and I know — " 



26 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Mast, {violently agitated). " That only you and I know." 
Go on, child, go on. 

Hel. It's blurred here — perhaps by a tear. 

Mast. For God's sake, go on ! 

Hel. It's in quotation marks. It is the motto itself. It 
looks like, " To love — is — to love is — 

Mast. " To love is to trust." 

Hel. That's it — "To love is to trust." How did you 
know ? 

Mast, {seizing the letter). To love is to trust — and 
signed, you say — how is it signed ? 

Hel. Prisciila. 

Mast. How, in Heaven's name, did you come by this? 

Hel. It was among my father's papers. 

Mast. Your fither's name ? 

Hel. Philip Staunton. 

Mast. Philip Staunton ! Philip Staunton ! How came 
he by the letter? Why did I never receive it? What 
treachery! O Prisciila! Prisciila! My lost love! God 
help us ! Prisciila ! 

Hel. {aside). What can it all mean ? What have I done ? 

Mast. Take me to your father — Philip Staunton, you 
say. Oh, my lost love ! Prisciila ! Prisciila ! 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 2J 



ACT III. 

Scene. — Staunton's ?w?;? «^/«. Same as before. Hal's 
lilacs on window-sill, up R. 

Staunt. {appearing from chamber, R.) Now to destroy- 
that letter. Madness to have kept it all these years! Mad- 
ness to have tried to make myself believe I would ever deliver 
it ! And now 1 am dying. Too late, too late! and I cannot 
leave it to fall into Helen's hands. (Up r.) Why, how 
heavy the air is. (At window.) I could swear 1 smelt 
white lilacs. No, no ; it was seeing Priscilla that made me 
think of white lilacs. But yet — ah! I was not mistaken — 
there are white lilacs. Who could have brought them ? 
( Takes up spray and smells it.) How pale she was that 
morning-, and her eves like a wild thing, and all about us the 
still morning air heavy with the scent of white lilacs 1 hate 
the flower. (Throws down the spray.) But the letter — 
the letter. (To secretary.) Where is my key? I had it 
this morning. Helen asked me for it, but 1 refused. I 
refused, I remember. She had seen the letter. If she knew 
what it contained ! Why, where can the key be ? Perhaps 
I can force the lock. (Tries to pry open the secretary.) 
Alas ! my feeble hands ! Oh, the misery of being old and 
ill! 

(Enter Mrs. G., D. L. in v., peering in.) 

Mrs. G. Oh, I thought he was asleep. (Rejfres and 
knocks loudly.) 

Staunt. (starting). Come in. 

Mas. G. Well, has your daughter brought the money 
yet ? (Down L.) 

Staunt. What money? 

Mrs. G. What money indeed ! The rent. 

Staunt. You dare to ask rent for this miserable rat- 
hole ! (Down c.) 

Mrs. G. Oh, very well. March out of the old rat-hole if 
you don't like it. 

Staunt. Where is my daughter ? 



28 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Mrs. G. Gone to beg money of the young man that's 
keepin' company with her. 

S taunt. What do you mean ? 

Mrs. G. I've been inquirin' about him. He's the nephew 
of that rich Mr. John Masters that lives in the old Masters 
house, on Chatterton Place. 

Staunt. Nephew of John Masters ! Old Masters house, 
on Chatterton Place ! Say that again — say that again. 

Mrs. G. No occasion. You repeated it all right. Now 
what 1 want to know is, does your daughter mean business, 
or don't she? The young man does, and if he marries her, 
he's only got to say to his uncle, "Give me another house 
as big as yours, and servants and horses and all," and his 
uncle'll do it. He just sets everything by that nephew. 

Staunt. {aside, going r.). Nephew to John Masters ! 
Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't any one tell me ? But 
I've been ill so long — I remember it was the day I fainted 
in the street, we first met the young man. He helped me 
home. I thought the name was Marston. not Masters. I 
liked the boy — a fine, manly fellow. And it was his photo- 
graph I caught Helen blushing over one day ' So my little 
giri has found some one she loves belter even than her 
father ! 

MRS. G. Muttering to himself as usual. Deeded] v off. 
Well — I'll give her half an hour more. {Exit, D L in v.) 

Staunt. Well, well, it's best so ; and I can die knowing 
she will be cared for. John Masters's nephew in love with 
my little girl! But .the letter — the letter! It must be 
destroyed this instant. If it should fall into his hands. If 
he should discover that Helen's father was the man who — 
Oh, where is the key? {Paces np and down.) The key — ■ 
the key! Oh, my head! The room swims! The window 
— air — air — the white lilacs — {Falls fainting on a chair, l.) 
{Enter Pris., d. l. in F.) 

Pris. Who called ? Ah ! {Runs to Staunton, gives 
him water, etc.) Poor Philip! poor Philip! and the air 
so close and sweet. Ah ! white lilacs. {Up R. ; opens 
window.) But where can his daughter be this long time? 
She should not leave him like this. There. Philip, you are 
better now. {Down L.) 

Staunt. {opening his eyes). Priscilla! 

Puis. Why, of course it's Priscilla. 

Staunt. Take them away. {Pointing to lilacs.') 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 2Q 

Pris. I'll set them on the sill. They are too sweet for 
the house. (She sets them outside the window.) 

Staunt. Don't ask me, Priscilla — I can't tell you — I 
can't. It's all past and gone. Let bygones be bygones. 
Let me die in peace, Priscilla ! 

Pris. {stroking his hand). Such a nice hand as you have, 
Philip. I always remembered your hand, so well formed and 
knit — 

Staunt. It's no use. Your eyes drag it nut of me. It 
will not let me rest. Priscilla, I loved you as never man 
loved a woman. To the destruction of my own soul I loved 
you. You must hear me before I die. 

Pris. Come, come, Philip; these are sickly fancies — 
feverish dreams. Calm yourself, old friend. 

Staunt. That night twenty years ago, when John Mas- 
ters and you parted in anger — 

Pr.s. Don't, Philip ! 

Staunt. That early morning after the ball, when my 
restless love drove me wandering by your windows — 

Pius. For Heaven's sake, Philip, let the old times rest ! 

Staunt. There you sat, pale as the white lilacs that 
scented the air all about. I can never smell white lilacs 
without picturing it. And when you saw me, "Philip," you 
cried, "oh, Philip," and I drew near, and stood beneath 
your window. 

Pris. {covering her face). Spare me. Philip. 

Staunt. Your eyes were wild with pain, Priscilla. I see 
them now. I have seen them ever since. "Philip," you 
cried, "for the love of God, carry this for me to — you know 
whom." 

Pris. {rising and moving to R.). " To you know whom." 

Staunt. Why did you choose me, Priscilla, to carry that 
fatal letter ? 

Pris. I could not wait. The sun was barely risen — -all 
the world was asleep but you and I. I fancied John too must 
be keeping watch. 

Staunt. Priscilla — that letter you gave me — that 
letter — 

Pris. O Philip, peace ! 

Staunt. (rising). Can you not see — can you not read in 
mv face, Priscilla, that the letter — 

Pris. (coming near and seizing his ar?n). Yes — Philip 
- — the ]etter — 



30 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Staunt. Never — reached (his voice sinks) — John — 
Masters's — hands. (Pris. stands a moment -motionless 
gazing at hitn ; then stretches ont her arms with a wild 
gesture, turns and buries her face in her hands.) I was 
wild for you, Priscilla. I worshipped your very shadow. 
How could I sit calmly by and let another win you ! I 
knew you had quarrelled. I k..ew John's proud spirit. The 
devil in me whispered, " It lies in your hands to keep them 
apart. You loved her first. She would have learned to love 
vou if lie had not come between." I read the letter; I never' 
delivered it. I lied when I told you that same day that I 
had. 1 lied when I let it come to John Masters's ears that 
M/ii were to marry me! He left without seeing vou again. 
Why don't you speak to me, Priscilla ? Priscilla, I loved 
you so! Speak to me, Priscilla. 

PR'S, (shuddering). Be silent ! 

Staunt. I loved you, Priscilla. 

Pius, {starting up fiercely). Don't speak to me of love ! 

Staunt. Do you think I did not repent what I had 
done ? In sackcloth and ashes repent it? 

Pr s. He must be told. 

Staunt. Who ? 

Pius. John Masters. 

Staunt. (startled '). To what end? What could you 
gain ? He- has grown warped and hard, they say ; bitter, 
and hates all women. What would you gain by making him 
curse my memory ? 

Pris. Warped and hard ? John, my John, warped and 
hard? And who brought this about? You! You, who 
made him believe I had forsaken him ! You, who taught 
him to look upon woman's love as but a passing breath ! 
(Toe.) 

Staunt. You will not tell him ! 

Pris. (turning). And all his life he has thought — yes, 
this very moment, while here I stand yearning, panting for a 
word from his lips, a touch of, his hand — this very moment 
thinks of me as false ! 

Staunt. Priscilla ! 

Pris. But he shall know. O John ! John ! wherever you 
are, I shall find yon. I — 

Staunt. Priscilla, listen ! 

Pris. Oh, the bitter joy of it ! Not scorned, not wilfully 
forsaken, as you led me to believe ; trapped, deluded, treach- 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 31 

erously torn from him. But he was true to me — oh, the 
bitter joy of it ! — true, true, true ! {She buries her face in 
her hands.) 

Staunt. {aside, l). And this is what my coward con- 
science has led me into ! Fool ! Could I not have kept silent 
to the last? Could i not have remembered my child? My 
little Helen! What can she hope from John Masters now? 
John Masters permit his nephew to marry the daughter of 
tiie man who — {Aloud.') Where are you going, Priscilla? 
Don't leave me like this ! 

PPvis. What can you further want of me ? *"" 

Staunt Priscilla, I have not long to live — 

Puis. Then make your peace with your God, if you can. 

Staunt. Kow hard at times even the »entlest woman 
can be ! I go empty-handed, as I came into the world. I 
leave Helen penniless — 

Pris. She will marry. 

Staunt. She would have married the man she loves but 
for you. 

Pris. For me! 

Staunt. She loves John Masters "s nephew. 

Pris. Mary's son ? 

Staunt. Mary's son once ; John's now. He adopted 
the boy. Will he be likely to give his consent to the mar- 
riage of his nephew to the child of one — who — 

Pris. And you dare ask me for this sacrifice? Me, 
whom you have so irreparably wronged ! 

Staunt. But for a time, Priscilla — but for a time. Can 
you not wait till the sod is over my grave ? When the young 
people are married, then go to him, if you will: Tell my 
daughter her father was a reprobate. Tell John Masters the 
father of his nephew's wife wrecked his life, John has 
grown bitter, they say, but he will not think it is because you 
are penniless that you come to him, and he a rich man ; he 
will not think — ■ 

Pris. Philip Staunton, beware! 

Staunt. Forgive me. Priscilla, but you will wait ? Look 
at my shaking hand; it will not be for long. You will not 
wreck the happiness of a young girl who has never injured 
you, and whose only fault is in being of my blood. 

Pris. {aside). He is right. How could I go to John and 
say, "John, I was true to you — I am true to you. You are 
the only man I ever loved ! " Oh, Heaven help me ! 



32 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Staunt. Listen, Priscilla. I will write a letter to John, 
I will tell him everything as it happened ; and after I am 
dead and Helen is married, she shall give it to him. 

Pris. You will do this ? 

Staunt. I will, 1 swear I will ; but there is one condi- 
tion. Helen must never know. She loves me — my little 
Helen — strange as it may seem to you. You will not break 
her heart by telling her that her father — 

Pris. Never, Philip ! believe me. Helen's love for you 
shall not be disturbed by word of mine. 

Staunt. Ah, that is the old Priscilla. (To c.) Now 
give me your hand on our compact. You shrink back ! It 
is a dying man implores you, Priscilla. 

Pris. (taking his hand}. There, Philip. 

Staunt. I do not ask your forgiveness, merely your 
promise. You promise. 

(d. l. in f. is opened by Helen. Masters stands behind 
her.) 

Puis. I promise, Philip. 

Mast. That voice ' Am I dreaming ! 

Hel. Father, I've brought a guest. 

(Pris. turns and sees Masters.) 

Pris. John! 

Mast. My God ! Priscilla 1 (Bownc.) ' 

Pris. John! (She [ays her hand in his, then glides out 
of the room, D. in F.) 

Hel. (following her). Oh, I want to ask you— (She 
joins Pris. in the passage ; and, taking Iter hand, appears 
to be talking earnestly with her. Masters stands C, gaz- 
ing at them half dazed.) 

"Staunt. (l.) Masters. 

Mast, (turning on him fiercely). Staunton ! 

Staunt. Sit down, Masters, sit clown. 

Mast. In your house! 'And you dare — (Checking 
himself ; aside.) Gray and broken ! I came to fling his 
treachery in his face, but it is the face of a dead man! And 
Priscilla alive ' 

Staunt. You find me changed, Masters. 

Mast, (gazing at Priscilla, who has put her arm about 
Helen ; aside). Priscilla alive ! 

Staunt But it matters less when we have young shoots 
about us. A fine boy, your nephew, Masters. 

Mast. What! You know Hal ? 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 33 

Staunt. Has he never spoken to you of us ? 

Mast. Never. 

Staunt. Never of Helen? 

Mast. What is Helen to you ? 

Staunt. My daughter, Masters. 

Mast. Your daughter ! So that is Hal's Helen. Your 
daughter! Priscilla's daughter ! And Priscilla alive ! How 
did it come to my ears that you were a widower, Staunton ? 
Priscilla's daughter ! 

Staunt. (amazed}. Priscilla's daughter'! Then you 
never heard — (Checks himself; aside.) So he fancies 
Priscilla my wife ! He never heard of my marriage to Bea- 
trice. Fancied the report of my wife's death referred to 
Priscilla! I have said nothing, nothing. It's all his own 
fancy. If he chooses to think Priscilla Helen's mother, am 
I responsible? He loved Priscilla; he would be drawn to 
Priscilla's daughter. He will find out his mistake soon 
enough without my telling him, but if before he finds it out 
I could gain his consent to the match ! He always had 
Quixotic notions of honor. He would keep to his word even 
after ne discovered he had been deceived — 

Mast, (aside). Priscilla's daughter! and she did love me 
once. It was through treachery he won her. My Hal in 
love with Priscilla's daughter ! But how came the girl with 
her mother's letter? And not knowing it was her mother's! 

Staunt. You are no friend to marriage, I know, Masters ; 
but it makes a difference who a girl's mother is. 

Mast. Yes, yes. (Aside _, going R ) Let me think. 
Could it have been that the girl found the letter among her 
father's papers, had heard of our broken* engagement, knew 
through Hal how averse I was to marriage, strove through 
subterfuge to soften me towards her mother, and through that 
towards herself? 

(Priscilla and Helen inove out of sight.) 

Staunt. (to a). You see, I speak of the girl's mother, 
not her father. There never was much love lost between 
you and me, John Masters. (Goes slowly up and closes 
door) 

Mast. Little enough, Heaven knows ; and but for your 
wife's sake you should this moment answer for — (Aside.) 
I cannot strike a dying man, and her husband ! 

Staunt. (down a). For my wife's sake, then, Masters, 
think of my child. She loves your boy. She has been a 



34 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

devoted daughter to me. She will make him happy, as her 
"mother has made me. Do not be hard on them. Promise 
me you will not stand in their way. {Aside.) I have said 
nothing, nothing. If he draws his own conclusions from my 
words, am I to blame ? 

Mast This very morning I told Hal he was a young fool 
to think of marriage. 

Staunt. But you did not then know who Helen was. 

Mast. No, I did not know who Helen was, nor did I 
know that her. father — {Checks himself,- aside.) Silence, 
for the sake of Priscilla, who loves him ! 

Staunt. But now you do know, Masters, you will not 
oppose them? Promise me, Masters — promise — us — 

Mast. What is a promise to you? 

Staunt. You will help them ? 

Mast. Help a child of yours ? Tell me how much of 
your false blood runs in her veins! 

Staunt. Go on; abuse a dying man. Masters ; it's gen- 
erous. {Aside.) What does he suspect? {Aloud.) But 
I'll bear it in silence As for Helen, she is all her mother. 

Mast. Well for her that she is. 

Staunt. You'll stand by her, Masters, for her mother's 
sake. Forget who her father was. You'll not break her 
heart and your boy's ? Your promise. {'To R.) Your hand. 

Mast, {starting back). No, not my hand in the treacher- 
ous palm that — 

{Enter Helen, d. in f.) 

Hel. Father! 

Staunt. {aside). Who has told him ? {Aloud?) Helen 
■ — the key of my secretary. Where is it ? {To L.) 

Hel. Here, father. I took it. Can I get anything for 
you? {Ate.) 

Staunt. No, no, give it to me. {Aside, taking key.) 
I'll destroy it this moment. {Aloud.) Run away now, 
Helen, run away. {He goes up to the desk.) 

Mast. (r.). Come here, child. 

Staunt {fumbling among his papers). Run away, 
Helen, run away. 

Mast, {turning up her face between his hands). A frank 
smile ; but not hers. Sweet eyes ; but not hers. Pure lips ; 
but not hers. 

Hel. You mean my mother ? 

Mast. Yes. I knew her at your age. 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 35 

Staunt. {turning round, aghast). Gone ! Robbed ! 
Who has been at my papers ? {Down c.) 

Hel. {to, a). What is it, father? 

Staunt. {drawing her toward him and speaking in a 
hoarse whisper). That letter — that valuable autograph 
letter ! 

Hel. {soothingly). The autograph letter is quite safe. 
Father dear, it is — 

M \st. {drawing out letter). In the hands of its owner. 

Staunt. {covering his face). My God ! 

Hel. What does it all mean? What is the letter? 
What — 

Mast, {to Staunton). Then she knows nothing? 

Staunt. {groaning). Nothing. 

Mast, {taking Helen's hand, r. a). The letter was 
mine. It was — lost. It came into your father's hands. 
Your father was keeping it — to return to me. 

Staunt. {faintly). Wine, Helen, wine ! {Sits L ) 

Hel. Yes, dearest. {She gives him a glass of wine.) 

Staunt. Now run into my room and pour out my drops. 
But carefully, Helen — take time, take time. 

Hel. Yes, father. {She runs into the bed-chamber, R.) 

Staunt. Saved ! In her eyes. 

Mast, {to C.). For her own sake, not yours, I lied. 

Staunt. I . know it, I know it. You would spurn my 
thanks. I offer none. I ask for no mercy. 

Mast. How came it she did not recognize her own 
mother's writing ? 

Staunt. Her mother's ? — Ah, that pain ! Her 
mother's — More wine, Masters. (Masters gives him 
wine.) Then you still fancy — Go call Priscilla. I'll tell 
you all. All — ah! that pain! I must rest first — a short 
respite — then come — you and Priscilla, and all shall be 
explained. As you have shown mercy, Masters, so may 
God himself be merciful ! 

{Enter Helen, r.) 

Hel. Here are your drops, father. And now come and 
rest. Lean on me, dearest. Why, how you tremble ! {Help- 
ing him to rise.) 

Staunt. Softly, now. There, there. This sudden weak- 
ness. What! your ann too, Masters? Well, well; you 
may come to it yourself — come to it yourself. 



2,6 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

{Exeunt, r., Staunton, Helen, and Masters. A 
knock. Enter Masters again from bed-chamber, R.) 

Mast. Come in. 

(Enter Aunt Libby, Hal, and Maid with basket, D. L. 
in f.) 

Aunt L. No, don't set the basket down, Lizzie. That's 
for the next place — Well, John, of all persons ! {Down c.) 

Hal (l.). Uncle John, you here ! 
. Mast. (r.). Hal, why did you never tell me before about 
these friends of yours ? 

Hal. Why, I tried to this morning, but you were not 
particularly receptive. 

Aunt L. Where is she, Hal? 

Hal. Oh, ask Uncle John. He seems to know all about 
her. 

Mast. If you mean Helen, Hal, she just helped her 
father into his room. (Retires tip and seems absorbed in 
thought.) 

Aunt L. Oh, then I won't wait. I only came to find out 
from Hal where the house was, and to tell her the blanc- 
mange and some calf 's-foot jelly, and a loaf of sponge cake, 
and a partridge which I shall broil myself, because I never 
can trust the broiling of a partridge to anybody else, and an 
air-pillow, which, considering the looks of the room, I doubt 
if she possesses, together with one or two other little things, 
would be round at four precisely, and also — 

Maid (up a). Please, ma'am, may I set the basket 
down ? 

Aunt L. By no means. I'm going this very moment. 
John, there's a most interesting case of destitution next door. 
Six children down with typhoid fever, and their father a good- 
for-nothing. I declare, if I hadn t you to look after, and Hal, 
I'd devote my whole time to charity and — but you are not 
paying the least attention. No, don't set the basket down, 
Lizzie. Didn't you hear me say I was coming this very 
minute ? 

Maid. Yes, ma'am. 

Aunt L. And so you may tell the young lady you call 
Helen, Hal, — and what her last name is I really haven't had 
time to inquire, though in illness last names or Christian 
names either, for the matter of that, make very little differ- 
ence — that — 

Hal (taking basket from Maid). Here, set that down. 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. ^J 

Aunt L. Why, but, ray dear Hal, I'm just on the wing, 
and I told her distinctly not to set it down. There's noth- 
ing so bad as giving servants contradictory orders. It 
always — come, Lizzie — confuses and upsets them even 
more than unexpected company to dinner ; and that you 
know, Hal, is a habit I have tried in vain to break your 
uncle of for years, though to be sure it matters less with 
these literary men in blue glasses, who might be eating shoe- 
leather for all they appreciate the — but wiiat I started to say 
was — however, never mind now, because those six children 
down with typhoid — I really have no time for idle conversa- 
tion, and — good gracious, Lizzie! do be quick. Go on — 
go first, for I wish to walk behind and pick up what you are 
sure to spill. Girls are so careless ! Go on now. (Exeunt 
Aunt L. and Maid, d. l. in f.) 

Hal (up r., looking out of window). I wouldn't have 
believed it of her. And I trudged two miles out into the 
country to get them for her ! 

Mast. (l.). What's wrong, Hal? 

Hal. Oh, nothing. Merely when you send some one 
flowers, and she just sticks them out on the window-sill to 
wilt — but you're not listening. (Down R.) 

Mast, (absorbed). The same sweet face, but how 
changed ! 

Hal. Uncle John, she was anything but pleased to see 
me this morning. It was you she wanted to see, and now I 
.meet you here, and — 

Mast. Stop there, you young idiot ! Not a word more. 
Jealous ? Distrustful? Do you wish to end where I did? 

Hal. I am not distrustful — only — 

Mast. It's men's distrust of women that plays the devil 
with their lives. O Hal ! Hal ! the best of us are not worthy 
to unloose the latchet of their shoes. (To c.) 

Hal. Uncle John ! This from you ! 

Mast. See here, Hal ; if when that sweet young thing 
conies out again, you do not take her to your heart, and 
swear to love and cherish her all your life — I'll disown 
you. 

Hal. Are you really in earnest. Uncle John ? 

Mast. There she comes now. Remember ! you have 
your orders. (Exit D. in F.) 

Hal. (to L.). What has happened to Uncle John ? 
(Enter Helen, r.) 



2)8 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Hel. Oh, Mr. Masters ! 

Hal. What have you done to Uncle John ? 

Hel. (c). Oh. I like him so much. How gentle he is 
underneath ! At first, I was afraid of him. 

Hal. Who could help being gentle to you ? 

Hel. He used to know my mother. 

Hal. Ah! that explains — 

Hel. But he says I'm not like her. 

Hal. Of course you are not. (To c.) You are not like 
anybody in the world. 

(Enter Mrs. G., d. in f.) 

Mrs; G. Oh, sorry to interrupt, but the sheriff is in my 
sittin'-room drinkin' his sixth cup of tea to keep him patient. 

Hal. What sheriff? 

Hel. Oh, dear! 

Mrs. G. Well, you see, these fine people not being 
inclined to pay the rent of this rat-hola, I had to call in — 

Hal. Rent? Sheriff? How much do you want ? ((/ft C.) 

Hel. Oh, Mr. Masters! 

Mrs. G. Oh, well ; it" you'll see to things — 

Hal. (taking out purse). There — if ever — 

Mrs. G No fear of infection in these notes ? 

Hal. ' Perhaps you had best fumigate them. 

Mrs. G. I will this minute. (Exit D. in F.) 

Hel. Oh. Mr. Masters ! 

Hal. Why didn't you tell me be r ore? (Down c.) 
Uncle John was right. He alw.iys used to sav women 
were little hypocrites. 

Hel. Indeed — I — 

Hal. Don't tell me you are not a hypocrite, for vou have 
held me off so at arms' length lately that I cannot help hop- 
ing you did it because you — cared for me just a little. Why, 
you are not crying ! (Puts his arm about tier.) 

Hel. I tried to hide it. 

Hal. What ! that you cared for me ? 

Hel. We are beggars, Hal — and I — did not want you 
to know how poor we were. I could not take anything from 
you. and — 

Hal. And now you won't have to take anything from me, 
because it will be all yours to start with, my darling. 

Hel. Oh, have you suspected long? 

Hal. I suspected I cared for you almost as soon as I 
saw you. 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 39 

Hel. And you'll help me get father well, won't you? 

Hal. Yes, dear. {Aside.) Poor little girl ! 

Hel. He's worse again. He's taken such a strange 
fancy that I mustn't talk to your Uncle John. 

Hal. How odd ! 

Hel. And he wants to see you — but that's not odd. 

Hal. You didn't like the flowers I sent you ? 

Hel. What flowers, Hal? 

Hal. Those white lilacs there on the window-sill. 

Hel. {running to window). Oh, what lovely lilacs ! 
Why did you put them out there without water, to wilt ? 

Hal {up R.). I didn't. I left them on the table. 

Hel. I do remember now smelling something sweet, but 
I was so frightened, so disturbed, I didn't realize who had 
brought them. Father must have put them there. Isn't it 
strange ? he can't endure the scent ! But there is nothing I 
love so well. 

Hal. Forgive me, darling. 

Hel. What for ? 

Hal. For distrusting you just a moment. I thought you 
had flung them away. 

Hel. O Hal ! when people love each other there ought 
not to be any room for distrust. 

Hal. I never will distrust you again. 

Hel. I read something to-day out of an old letter. It 
was all so sad and strange. I don't understand it. It was 
what brought your uncle here. I went to him to try and 
raise some money on an autograph letter. 

Hal. Don't think you must explain anything to me. 
Whatever you do is sure to be right. 

Hel. Dearest! But this letter spoke of a ring, and the 
motto on the ring was " To love is to trust." Let that be 
ours, Hal. 

Hal. "To love is to trust." 

Hel. I mustn't wear these lilacs, on father's account ; but 
I'll just break off a tiny spray — No, you do it for me. 

Hal. There, sweet. {He breaks off a sprig, kisses it, 
and gives it to her.) 

Hel. And lay it in my prayer-book, and on the fly-leaf I 
will write, " To love is to trust," and the scent of white lilacs 
will always bring back to me the sweetest hour of my life. 
(Staunton's voice heard within, r.) 

Staunt. Helen ! Helen ! 



4-0 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Hel. Yes, father, 

Hal. Oh, don't be long. 

Hel. O Hal ! with father so ill ! 

Hal. Forgive me. I am a selfish brute where your 
absence is concerned. {Exit Helen, r ) Now to tell 
Uncle John. There he is in the passage. Uncle John! 
(Enter Masters, D. in f.) Wish me joy, Uncle John. 

Mast. Is it all right? (Dojw'n C, taking his hand.) 

Hal. Most supremely right. 

Mast. How would next week suit you ? 

Hal. What for? 

Mast. The wedding. 

Hal. To-day would suit me better, but women, you 
know — ■ 

Mast. Well, take your own time. I'll make all my 
arrangements, what I shall settle on you, before I go. 

Hal. Before you go where ? 

Mast. To the East, I'm going to travel for a year or 
two. 

Hal. Why, isn't this awfully sudden ? 

Hel. {calling outside). O Hal ! will you come in here a 
moment ? 

Hal (rapturously). Just hear her! Did you hear her 
say Hal ? 

Mast. I heard her. {Exit Hal, r.) It's no use. All 
these years my love was a smouldering fire. Now it flames 
up with twice its old fierceness. How can I stay on and be 
thrown with her and keep silent? How can I sit in my 
lonely house and picture her wifely devotion to that dying 
wretch whose treachery it would be barbarism to reveal since 
he is her husband, the father of her child ! Dying ! Hush ! 
I must not let myself think of that ! And if ever she were 
free, could I ever forget that she had been his wife ! (Up c.) 
I must see her once more before I go. (Looking out of door.) 
There she is now ! Priscilla! 

Pris. (coming to door). You spoke, John ? 

Mast. I called you to say good-by, Priscilla. I leave 
shortly for the East. We may not meet again. 

Pris. For the East ! (Down c. together.*) 

Mast. And now that all is so happily arranged — 

Pris. So happily — arranged. (Aside.) Great Heavens ! 

Mast. She is a sweet girl, Priscilla. 

Pris. Yes, John. 



AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 41 

Mast. But not as sweet a woman as her mother. 

Pris. You remember her mother ? 

Mast. Remember her ! 

Pris. Is she like her mother ? 

Mast. Not to my eyes. 

Pris. I never — saw — Helen's — mother! 

Mast. Never — saw — Helen's — mother! 

Pris. No. Why do you look at me so strangely, 
John? 

Mast. My God, Priscilla ! Are you not Helen's mother? 

Pris. I Helen's mother ! Are you dreaming ? 

Mast. But you are Philip's wife? 

Pris. I am no man's wife. 

Mast, {taking out letter). Then this letter — this letter 
you wrote me so long ago — 

Pris. {taking letter-). What! my letter! And Philip 
accused himself falsely when he declared but now that he 
had" never delivered it ! 

Mast. He never did deliver it. 

Pris. How did you come by it ? 

Mast. Through a Heaven-sent mistake ! 

Pris. Then I may speak! 1 may tell you— O John! 
why did you lose faith in me ? 

Mast. Priscilla, it was all a horrible piece of treachery. 
But you are free? Not Philip's wife ? 

Pris. I am no man's wife. 

Mast. And he lied to me then, and even now, with 
death in his face, tried to work on my feelings by added 
perfidy ! 

Pris. God forgive him ! 

Mast, {taking her hand). Oh, if I dared hope ! 

Pris. What, John? 

Mast. If the words of that letter were true as when 
they were written. Priscilla, I have never loved any woman 
but vou. 

Pris. John, the words of that letter mean as much now 
as ever they did. 

Mast, {taking her in his arms). O Priscilla, my love! 
after all these years ! 

Pris. At last! at last! 

Mast. There, weep it out on my breast. Mine — my 
own ! 

Pris. Oh, the wonder of it ! 



42 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 

Mast. And as for that unhappy wretch who tried to part 
us — 

(Helen's voice within, sobbing?) 

Hel. Father! Speak to me ! 

(Hal appears at door, R., and holds up a warning hand?) 
Pris. {pointing to Hal). Hush, John ; he has gone to 
his last account ! 

CURTAIN. 



SELECTED LIST OF STANDARD PLAYS. 

Price, 15 Cents each. 



THE ADOPTED CHILD. A Musical Drama in Two Acts. By Samuel Birch, 
Esq. Seven male, four iemale characters. Scenes, exteriors and interiors. Cos- 
tumes : doublets, trunks, etc. This is a very effective play, the principal char- 
acter being an "old salt." Time in representation, one hour fifteen minutes. 

fi OVICE TO HUSBANDS. A Comedietta in One Act. By C. S. Lancasi^k. 

Five male, one female characters. Scene, landscape. Costume modern. Time 
in representation, forty minutes. 

ALADD'N ; or, The Wonderful Lamp. A Drama in Three Acts. Ten male, 
six female characters. Aladdin usually assumed by a lady. Costumes jf the 
fairy and burlesque type. Scenery of the well-known fairy tale. 

CENTENNIAL. A Charade in Three Acts. Seven ladies and six gentlemen. 
Scene, interior of a country grocery store. Very easy to get up. 

CAPTA2N KYO; or, The Wizard of the Sea. A Drama in Four Acts. By 
J. S. Jones. Fourteen male, five female characters. Scenery difficult. Cos- 
tumes of 1694-1699. Time in representation, about two hours. 

CRINOLINE. A Farce in One Act. By Robert Brough. Four male, four 
female characters. Scene, interior. Costumes, English modern. Time in repre- 
sentation, forty-eight minutes. 

THE FREE WARD. A Farce in One Act. Six male, two female characters. 
Scene, hospital office. Irish and Dutch characters. Time in representation, forty 
minutes. This piece makes a very effective dialect reading. 

THE DON'S STRATAGEM. A Parlor Play in Three Scenes. Four male, 
three female characters. Has Scotch dialect parts. 

•%LLA ROSENBERG. A Melodrama in Two Acts. By James Kenney. Seven 
male, three female characters. Scenery, elaborate. Costumes: Huzzar dress, 
trunks, tights, etc. Time in representation, about two hours. 

A FAIVS1LY FAILING. A Farce in One Act. By John Oxenford. Six male, 
one female character. Scene, elegant interior ; time of Charles II. Costumes of 
that period. Time in representation, one hour. 

A PRETTY PIECE OF PROPERTY. A Farce. Two male, four female 
characters. A very easy parlor piece. 

FIGHTING BY PROXY. A Burletta in One Act. By James Kenney. Six 
male, two female characters. Scene, interior. Costumes modern, if desired. A 
fine piece. Time in representation, one hour. 

THE GROTTO NY5VIPH J or, Fairy Favor. A Fantastic Musical Moreeaa 
of absurdity in One Act. By A Wallace Thaxter. Three male, seven female 
characters. Costumes, fairies and princes of the burlesque school. Scenes, fairy 
lakes, etc. Time in representation, one hour. 

OSWALD A ; or, The Miller's Wife. A Comic Drama in Three Acts. By Ben- 
jamin Webster. Six male, five female characters. Scenes, exterior and in- 
terior, numerous and important. Costumes, trunks, shapes, etc. Time in repre- 
sentation, one hour and fifty minutes. 

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. A Melodramatic Romance in Two Acts. By 
Thomas Dibdin, from Sir Walter Scott's poem. Thirteen male, three female 
characters, and a number of supernumeraries. Scenery, elaborate. Costumes- 
Highlanders, etc. Time in representation, about two hours. A good play to take 
selections from. 



THE LAST MAN " or, The Miser of Elthan Green. A Drama in Two Acts. 
By Geo. Dibdin Pitt. Eleven male, three female characters. Scenery, interiors 
and exteriors. Costumes, time of George the Second. Time in representation, 
one hour and a half. 

A LUCKY H IT. A Petit Comedy in One Act. By Haward Paul. Three male, 
one female characters. Scene, elegant apartment. Costumes, square-cut coats, 
wigs, etc. Time in representation, forty-five minutes. 

THE MIDNIGHT BANQUET; or, The Castle of : Cabaldo. Melodrama 
in Two Acts. Six male, three female characters Costumes, bandits, etc. Seen, 
ery easy. Time in representation, one hour and forty m.nutes. 

THE MILLER AND HBS MEN. A Melodrama in Two Acts. By L. Pi 
COCK. Seven male, three female speaking characters. Robbers, millers' men, an 
hussars. Scenery, very elaborate; costumes, ditto. This is one of the best piece 
of its class ever produced. Time in representation, one hour and a half. 

MY SON DSANA. A Farce in One Act. By A. Harris. Three male, two 
female characters. Scene, interior. Costumes modern. Time in representation, 
forty minutes. 

NATURE AND PHILOSOPHY; or, The Youth who never saw a 
Woman. A Farce in One Act. Three male (one usually performed by a woman), 
two female characters. Scenes, wood and garden. Costumes, shape and tights. 
Time in representation, fifty minutes. 

OLD AND YOUNG" OR , Both Alike. A Comedy in Two Acts. By John 
Salmon. Five male? five female characters. Scenery, interiors. Costumes of 
1750. An easy, effective piece. Time in representation, one hour and a quarter. 

ELIZABETH GARISBROOKE WITH A " P." A Parlor Play ir 
Three Acts. Two male, four female characters. A very amusing piece. 

POOR PETER. A Farce in One Act. Five male, two female characteri. Lead 
ing lady part, a ballet-girl, with dance if desired. 

MY SISTER'S HUSBAND. A Drawing-room Piece in Two Scenes. Three 
male, three female characters. 

THE REVIEW. A Musical Farce in Two Acts. By George Coleman. Eight 
male, four female characters. Time in representation, about one hour. 

THE SHAKER LOVERS. A Drama in One Act. By S. D. Johnson. Sever. 
™ male, three female characters. Scenes, landscapes and woods. Costumes modern. 
Time in representation, thirty minutes. 

THE TRUMPETER'S DAUGHTER. A Farce in One Act. By j. Ster- 
ling Coyne. Four male, one female characters. Scene, artist's studio. Cos- 
tumes, square-cut coats, breeches, etc. Time in representation, forty minutes. 

WALLACE: The Hero of Scotland. An Historical Drama in Three Acts 
Appropriate costumes. Time in representation, about two hours. 

ZELINA " 0R > The Triumph of the Greeks. A Warlike Grecian Drama in Three 
Acts. By C. A. Somerset. Eleven male, two female characters, soldiers, e'> 
Scenery elaborate. Costumes, Grecian and Turkish. Two splendid Yankee ai.J 
Irish sailor parts. Time in representation, one hour and fifty minutes. 

NAAMAN THE SYRiAN. A Drama in Four Acts. By Rev. James Boxer 
Ten male, seven female characters. A Scriptural play, adapted for church reprc 
sentation. 

THE REGISTER. A Comedy in One Act. By W. D. Howells. Two male, 
two female characters. Price, 25 cents. 



Grand Dickens Cosmorama, 

Comprising several unique entertainments, capable of 
being used separately or in combination. For school, 
home, and hall. 

By GEORGE B. BARTLETT. 
Paper, 23 cents. 



DICKENS'S READINGS. 

(Selected by Himself.) Expressly prepared for the Use of Schools, 
Reading Clubs, and Public Readers, and for Classes in Transla- 
tion. Each ReacUng in neat paper covers, 15 cents. 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL. In four staves, as read in America. 

BARDELL AND PICKWICK. Containing the remarkable Speech of Ser- 
geant Buzfuz, the Testament of Sam Weller, and the Perplexities of the Little 
Judge. 

DAVID COPPERFSELD. Condensed by the author to embrace the story oi 
Little Emily, the villany of Uriah Heep, and the eccentricities of Micawber. 

WIR. BOB SAWYER'S PARTY. One of the best creations of the greai 
master ot fiction. 

LITTLE. DOM BEY. From the well-known novel of Dombey and Son, intro 
ducing some of the best characters. 

NICHOLAS N1CKLEBY. {Long Reading. In the Yorkshire school.) In- 
troducing Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, Nicholas, Newman, Noggs, and Smike, with 
the stirring scenes in the school-room. 

NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. {Short Reading. Introducing many favorite char- 
acters and scenes in this great novel. 

BOOTS AT THE HOLLY TREE INN. This humorous sketch was 

always a great favorite with Mr. Dickens's audiences. 

1 DR. MARIGOLD. This is a story complete in itself, and one of the most enter- 
taining of the shorter sketches. 

MRS. CAMP. This sketch introduces Sairy Gamp, Mrs. Prig, and the invisible 
friend of the former, "Mrs. Harris." 

DICKENS'S READINGS. Complete in 1 vol. i6mo. Cloth. Containing 
the above. Handsomely illustrated. Price, $1.50. 



MEYER'S CELEBRATED GREASE PAINTS. 

We are now prepared to furnish a full line of Grease Paints of the celebtated make 
of Charles Meyer, at the manufacturer's price. These paints are acknowledged by 
professionals to be the best, and are in general use in our theatres. Compared to the 
old method of using powders, these paints are far superior, as they impart, a clearer 
and more life-like appearance to the skin, and, being of a greasy nature, cannot easily 
be affected by perspiration. We can supply the following necessary colors, put up 
in a neat box, with full directions for use, viz. : Light Flesh, Dark Flesh, Brown, 
Black, Lake, White, Carmine, and Slate. Price, $1.00. 

We have also the following extra colors : — 

NO. NO. NO. 

1. Very pale Flesh Color. 6. Healthy Sunburned, for n. Ruddy, for old age. 

2. Light Flesh, deeper tint. juvenile heroes. 12. Olive, heaitny. 

3. Natural Flesh Color, for 7. Healthy Sunb'ned, deep- 13. Olive, lighter shade. 

iuvenile heroes. er shade. 14. Gypsy rlesh color. 

4. Rosy Tint, for juvenile S. Sallow, for young men. 15. Othello. 

heroes. 9. Healthy Color, for mid- 16. Chinese. 

5. Deeper shade, for juve- die ages. 17. Indian. 

nile heroes. 10. Sallow, for old age. 18. East Indian. 

Done up in sticks of four inches in length, at 25 cents each. An v other colot 
made to order. 
LINING COLORS; Brown, Black, Lake, and White. 15 cents each. Carmine 

and White, large sticks, 25 cents each. 



justly recommended by the piofession as being the best. 

CREAM EXORA. — In large china pots. A very fine preparation for beauti- 
fying the complexion, in different shades, as follows: No. 1, White; No 2, Tint 
of Hose; No. 3, Darker Shade (brunette). 50 and 75 cents per cox, 

ADHESIVE POWDER. — For sticking on Mustaches, Whiskers, etc. 
Price, 25 cents per box. 

COCOA BUTTER. —For removing grease paint. Large pieces, 25 cents. 



DORIN'S { IS £* ™Jg£ } PHce, 3 S cents each. 



MAKER'S SMOKE POTS. — Having considerable call for an article for 
making smoke for fire scenes, etc., we have made arrangements with the pyro- 
technist of the Boston Theatre to supply us with the best article for that purpose; 
we can now furnish smoke pots, entirely free from stencn and producing a thick 
white smoke, in two sizes, at 35 and 50 cents each. 

BAKER'S BLACK OPERA CORK. -For Ethiopian Singers and Actors. 
40 cents per box. 

BAKER'S TABLEAU LIGHTS. -Red, Green, and White. Price, zj 
cents each. 

These lights are put up especially for our trade, and cannot be excelled for 
brilliancy. They burn with as little smoke a& any preparation for likf purpose. 
The white is especially brilliant, rivalling the magnesium light in intensity. We 
have the above solidified for mailing purposes, enough for three lights in a pack- 
age, at the same price. 

The Tableau Lights will be sold in bulk, put up in tin boxes, not less than 
half a pound of a color, at $1.50 per pound ; sent only by express. 



We can furnish any of the articles advertised in the catalogues of other publishers 
of plays, at list prices. 



PARLOR VARIETIES. 

(PAKT FIRST.) 

PLAYS, PANTOMIMES, AND CHARADES. 

By EMMA E. BREWSTER. i6mo. Bound, 50 cents; paper, 30 cents. 



LIST OF VARIETIES. 

MY SISTER'S HUSBAND. Play, 2 Acts. 3 male, 3 female characters. 
THE CHRISTMAS BOX. Play, 2 Acts. 4 male, 4 female characters. 
THE FREE WARD. Play, 1 Act. 5 male, 2 female characters. 
lANE'S LEGACY. Play, 1 Act. 2 male, 4 female characters. 

A PRETTY PIECE OF PROPERTY. Play, 3 Acts. 3 male, 4 female characters. 
POOR PETER. Play, 1 Act 5 male, 2 female characters. 
THE DON'S STRATAGEM. Play, 3 Acts. 4 male, 3 female characters. 
HOW THE COLONEL PROPOSED. Play, 3 Acts. 2 male, 4 female characters. 
ELIZABETH CARISBROOKE WITH A " P." Play, 3 Acts. 2 male, 4 female char- 
acters. 
ELIZA'S BONA-FIDE OFFER. Play, 1 Act. 4 female characters. 
ZERUBBABEL'S SECOND WIFE. Play, 1 Act. 2 male, 2 female characters. 
A DOG THAT WILL FETCH WILL CARRY. Play, 1 Act. 6 female characters. 
Charade — HOLIDAYS. Masque for Children. 
Charade — CENT-ANY-ALL — CENTENNIAL. 3 Acts. 

Pantomime — ARABELLA AND LIONEL. 1 Act. 2 male, 2 female characters. 
A BUNCH OF BUTTERCUPS. 1 Act. 1 male, 5 female characters. 

Any piece on the list sold separately^ price 13 cents each.. 

A New Volume of Plays and Pantomimes. 
PARLOR VARIETIES. 

(PART SECOND.) 

Being the Second Series of Plays, Pantomimes, and Charades, 

By EMMA E. BREWSTER, Author of " Parlor Varieties," Part I., and 
LIZZIE B. SCRIBNER. Bound, 50 cents ; paper, 30 cents. 

JUST OUT. 



PARLOR VARIETIES. 

(PART THIRD.) 

The Third of this Popular Series oi Plays, Pantomimes, and Charades. 

By OLIVIA LOVELL WILSON. 

The plays are bright and witty. The variety includes musical pieces, fairy plays, ana 
laughable farces. Just what is wanted for the winter entertainments at home, ir; the 
school, and 00 many public occasions. Boards, 50 cents; paper, 3c cents. 



NEW ENTERTAIKCDEHTS 



AN EYEMG OF STATUARY AM) TABLEAUX. 

BY GEORGE B. BARTL3TT. 

Mr. Bartlett's skill in arranging entertainments of this character 
ensures a warm welcome for every new book from his pen. This book 
comprises twenty-four new tableaux and pantomimes - — a set of in-door 
entertainments, with simple and effective directi mis bv which thev can 
be carried out with little trouble and expense. - "Price, 35 tens. 



M Mother Goosb Phrty 
AND OTHER ENTERTAINMENTS. 

By George B. Birtlett. 

Containing directions for A Mother Goose Party, A Mother Goose 
Operetta, Dame History's Peep-Sh >w, A Vision of Shakespeare's 
Heroines, Historical Hints for Tableaux, A Tableau tram blue Beard, 
Literati, etc. - - - Price, i5 Cents. 



AND OTHER ENTERTAINMENTS. 
BY GEORGE B. BARTLSTT. 

Containing Mother Goose Pantomimes, a Christmas Pantomime, 
Dissolving Views, etc. ...... Price, 1J Cents. 

A NEW PLAY BY GEO. 1,1, BAKER. 

Gustave, The Professor. 

A comedy in one act, translated fr<>m t^e French bv Ge^. M. Biker. 
Four male, two female characters; t..iu in representation, fortv-five 
minutes. --------- Pric , 25 Coutt. 



UNDER TZ SPELL. 

A comedy in one act, from the French, bv Julia Di-\V. Gttstss. 
Four male, one female characters; time in representation f-irty-five 
minutes to an hour. 1 rice, 15 Cents. 



A- FALSE NOTE. 

A comclv in one act, by Jdi.TA DeW. CiKiss. Three male, four 
female characters. Plays al>otifaii hour. - - Price, 15 Cents. 



Baker's Edition of Plays 



Seven Characters. —Four Males, Three Females, 



Boston Dip . . . .15 
Bowled Out .... 15 
Bit of Brummagem . 15 
Brother Bill and Me . 15 
Class Day 25 



Peace and Quiet . . li 
Sniashiugton Goit . , i5 
Silverston's Wager . 15 
Thirty Minutes for Re- 
freshments. , . . 15 



Comrades ..'... 25 
Don's Stratagem . . 15 
My Turn Next ... 15 
Mysterious Disappear- 
ance 15 

Poison 25 

Three Males, Four Females. 
Cool Collegians (The) ... 25 | Pretty Piece of Property , 
Six Males, One Female. 
Look After Brown . 15 | Turkish Bath 
Five Males, Two Females. 
Jobn Dobbs .... 15 
Old Honesty .... 15 
j Poor Peter . . . .' 15 , 
Eight Characters. — Four Males, Four Females. 
Crinoline 15 ! Christmas Box ... 15 I My Precious Betsy 



family Failing 



15 



Dora . . . . . . . 15 

Free Ward (The) . . 15 



15 



Slasher and Crasher 
Seeing the Elephant 



Blanks and Prizes . . 
Daughter of Regiment 



| Our Mutual Friend 
Six Males, Two Females. 
15 I Fighting by Proxy . 15 



True Unto Death 
Uncle Robert 



Bread on tbe Waters 
Flower of tbe Family 
His Last Legs . . 



15 | Love's Labor Saved . 15 | 
Five Males, Three Females 
15 ; Husband to Order . . 15 
15 j .John Smith .... 15 
15 | Last Loaf (The) ... 15 
| Little Brown Jug (The) 15 
Seven Males, One Female. 
Payable on Demand . 15 | Sea of Troubles . . . 15 
Nine Characters. —Six Males, Three Females. 



Little More Cider . , 
My Brother's Keeper . 
Nicholas Flam . . 



15 



15 



Midnight Banquet 
On and Off . . , 



Another Glass ... 15 Dunducketty's Picnic 15 
Jown by the Sea , . 15 Hit Him. He has no 

Friends ..... 15 
Five Male, Four Females. 
25 | Queen's Heart (The) . 15 | Race for a Widow . . 
Two Males, Seven Females. 
Thorn among the Roses 15 
Ten Characters. — Six Males, Four Females. 
Among the Breakers . 15 I Damon and Pythias . 15 1 Lying will Out . . . 
15 Game of Dom'inos . . 15 Mrs. Walthrop's Bach- 
15 I Lost in London . . . 15 | elors ...... 25 



Better than Gold 



Bull in a China Shop 
Duchess of Dublin 



16 



15 



Coupon Bonds . 
Enlisted for War 
Ella Rosenberg . 



Seven Males, Three Females. 



Flowing Bowl (The) 
Home Guard (The) 



Miller and liis Men . 15 
Paddle your Own Canoe 15 



Shaker Lovers 



15 



Five Males, Five Females. 
Both Alike .... 15 I Cleft Stick (The) . . 15 I Lords of Creation 

| Old and Young ... 15 | 
Eleven Characters. — Six Males, Five Females. 
Babie ...... 25 I The Miller's Wife . . 15 | The " Tomboy " 

Giralda 15 | Our Folks 15 | 

Eight Males, Three Females. 
Lost Mine (The) . . 25 ["Nevada" .... 25 I Our Boys of 1776 
I One Hundred Yt. ars Ago 15 | 
Seven Males, Fp tir Females. Five Males, Six Females. 

Ateov« the Clouds 15 | The Christening . . ,, . , . , 

Nine Males, Two Females. 
Don Caesar de Baean . 15 



WALTER H. BAKER & CO., PUBLISHERS 
23 WINTER ST., BOSTON, MASS. 



Baker's Edition ~r Y 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



Twelve Characters. — Nine 
Ticket of Leave Man 15 | W 

Ten Males, Two Females. 
Gaspardo, the Gondolier . . . . 15 | Fo 
Over Twelve Ch 
Aladdin ..... 15 Jeweller's Apprentice 
Babes in the Woods . 15 Lady of Lyons 
Captain Kyd .... 15 

Clari 15 

Dumb Girl of Portici . 15 
East Lyime .... 15 
¥(. reed to the War . 25 
Hero of Scotland . . 15 
Hunchback (The) . . 15 

Handet 15 

Hidden Hand ... 15 




Lady of the Lake 
Monseigneur . . 
Maid o/ Milan 



015 871 719 



15 : Scarlet Letter ... 15 

15 j School for Scandal . 15 

15 ! StolenWill (The) . . 25 

15 I Golden Butterllv (The) 25 

15 \ Two Orphans (The) . 25 



Masaniello .... 15 "Virginia Veteran 
Naaman, the Syrian . 25 ! Wallace 



Zelina ...... 

Blue and Gray, or Star 
of Empire .... 



30 



Poor Gentleman 
Past Redemption . 
The Stranger . . . . Vo \ 
Male Characters Only. 
Number of Characters given instead of price, which is uniformly 15 cents each 



Coals of Fire .... 6 
Close Shave .... 6 
Freedom of the Press. 8 
Gentlemen of the Jury 12 
Great Umbrella Case 32 
Great Elixir .... 
Humors of the Strike 
Hypochondriac (The) 



Man with the Demijohn 4 
My Uncle the Captain 6 
New Brooms Sweep 

Clean 6 

Public Benefactor . . fi 
Pedlar of Verymce . 7 
Rival Poets .... 2 

Runaways 4 

Ready-made Suit . . 35 

Female Characters Only. 

15 cents each, except Rebecca's Triumph, which is 25 cents. 



Stand by the Flag . . 5 
Shall Our Mothers Vote 11 

Two Gentlemen in a tf'ix 2 

Too Late for the Train 2 

Thief of Time (The) . 6 
Tender Attachment . 

Very Pleasant Evening 3 

Wanted, a Male Cook 4 



Champion of Her Sex 8 



Greatest Plague in Life 8 Red Chignon . . . 
The Grecian Bend. . 7 Rebecca's Triumph 
Love of a Bonnet . . 6 Tipsy Pudding . . 
No Cure, No Pay . . 7 Using the Weed 
Precious Pickle ... 7 Voyage of Life . . 
Musical and Other Plays for Children. 
Male and Female Characters. 



Accelerate — operatic 

charade' 15 

Bachelor's Christmas 25 

Bunch of Buttercups 15 

Christmas Carol . . 15 

Centennial — charade . 15 
Conjuration— operatic 

charade 15 



College Ned— operetta 15 
Dorothy's Birthday — 

operetta 25 

Diamonds and Toads — 

operetta 15 

Fairy of Fountain . . 25 

Holidays ..... 15 

Hunt the Thimble . 50 

| Lost Children ... 15 

Musical Allec.okik's for Ff.male Characters Only. 



Merry Christmas . . 15 

R. E. Porter .... 75 

Santa Claus Fmlies . 15 

Santa Claus First . . 25 

Santa Clans at Home . 20 
Seven Ages— Tableaux 

eiit lr 

Titania 25 



Lightheart's Pilgrim- 
age 



15 



15 



Vision of Freedom 
War of Roses 



Revolt of the Bees . . 
Tournament of Idyl- 
court 15 | 

The Pilgrim's Choice, for Male a:>d Females. 
Musical and Other Entertainments for A> clts. 
Anastasia, operetta 25 I Driggs and Kis Double, shadow pan- 
Anonymous, shadow pantomime . . 2ft | roniime 25 

Arabella and Lionel, pantomime . 15 | H. M. S. Pinafore, opera .... 
A. Ward's Wax Figger Show . . . 25 j In Pawn, shadow pantomime . . . 

Bon Bona, musical and dramatic i Jenny I.ind, operetta 

entertni'iHneirt 25 } Sculptor's Triumph, tableau ent. _. 

Capuletta, operatic burlesque . . To Snow Bound, musical and dramatio 

Cinderella, shadow pantomime . . 25 j entertainment 

Drink, shadow pantomime .... 25 Orpheus, shadow pantomime . . 



WALTER H. BAKER & CO., PUBLISHERS 
23 WINTER ST., BOSTON, MASS. 



